#Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant

[14h03m]

꒰ 📼 ꒱ .ﾟprincess deborah and isidore visconti ; isn't being a wicked woman much better?

[moontheoretist]

Deborah x Isidore = Pure Comedy

I started reading “The Perks of Being a Villainess“ / “Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant” recently, and the male lead (Isidore Visconti) is absolutely hilarious. That guy literally fell for the MC - Deborah at first sight and didn’t even notice! And the hilarious part is that Deborah knows him as both him and his second identity, and the scenes in which she talks to the other identity about the first one are the most hilarious. He is literally pouting every time she calls his real identity suspicious xD THAT MAN WAS LOST THE MOMENT HE TALKED TO HER FOR THE FIRST TIME AND HE IS NOT GOING BACK. This romance is hilarious as fuck. Also, the huge plus of this manhwa is that the main character is a science major so SHE IS GOOD AT MATH, and she uses that math knowledge to literally solve magical equations. I feel strong feminist vibe coming from here. A woman who knows how to count and is damn good at it is something I needed in those “I was Reborn as a Villainess” manhwas.

(This is a face of a man that was lost to love).

[rosa-eve]

sauce: isn't being a wicked woman much better

credits: danny on Pinterest

[bachiras-toaster]

our girlfriend : ̗̀➛

RYOMEN SUKUNA x f!reader x YUJI ITADORI

wc: 2.4k

cw: somnophilia, sukuna and itadori fighting over control of itadori’s body, voyeurism? sukuna fucks the reader while itadori watches, sukuna’s dirty, dirty thoughts… yuji is of age

Yuji had been fighting a demon. A literal demon.

Yuji was never afraid to admit how much he loved you. He adored being close to you and never wanted to spend a single second outside of your presence, and this included during times like sleeping. He had completely lucked out when it came to his relationship with you and loved it when you stayed the night in his room to simply watch movies before dozing off in his arms. In the purest of ways, Yuji Itadori loved sleeping with you.

However, tonight seemed to be a little different. The atmosphere was warmer, the room was quieter, and all in all, it just left someone with the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation that they were in.

Being the big spoon, Yuji had always slept with your back facing his stomach and his arms wrapped around your waist. It made him feel closer to you and it meant that he could bury his face in the gap between the back of your head and your spine. Although, it seemed that you had gotten a little too close for comfort tonight with your body shifting minor amounts in your sleep, causing your ass to grind gently against his crotch as your snored softly through your pleasant dreams. This had usually never been a problem for Yuji and he never ever minded whenever you moved against him, but tonight, it was someone else who took the initiative to make the move.

He tried to fight back, really fight back, to prevent Sukuna from taking over his form, but it was no use. He felt weaker in his tired state, yet awake enough to want to keep Sukuna from doing anything stupid, especially to his girlfriend. It was like he was battling the worst of his nightmares, all while he was still very wide awake.

He tried his best not to shift against you, praying that you wouldn’t wake up, as he screamed at Sukuna in his own mind for even thinking of doing something so wrong ans perverted. Although, the taboo of it all was what enticed Sukuna in the first place. That, and the fact that you just felt so good when you grinded up against him like that. He couldn’t help but think these awful thoughts, after all, he had never been able to take over Yuji while the two of you… Did anything.

Eventually, Yuji had lost the fight against Sukuna, which allowed him full control over his body. Though tonight, he had no murderous intention on his mind, no thought to kill or slaughter any woman or child. No. This time, his head was caught up with feelings of pure lust, which was arguably even worse to Yuji as it meant that he was surrendering his body to allow some monster to violate his girlfriend without her knowing. It didn’t stop him from yelling at Sukuna from the back of his mind, but king of curses was surprisingly good at ignoring all cries for attention and pleas from the man of the body in which he had stolen.

Sukuna, still laying behind you, slowly ran his hand up your shirt until his palm was able to cup a handful of your breast in his palms. The wicked smile that appeared on his lips as he steadily shifted up from his position to look over your slumber form was one that displayed pure evil. Yuji couldn’t help but watch from his own eyes as Sukuna’s fingernails gently tugged at the hem of your shirt to pull it over your chest to reveal you soft tits to his lustful eyes.

“We have such a pretty girlfriend, don’t we, Itadori?” Sukuna grinned as he settled his hands on your plush thighs, which had barely been covered by your short pyjama bottoms. The sound of Sukuna addressing you as their shared girlfriend was enough to make Yuji’s blood run cold with anger and frustration at the fact that he was still trapped behind the screen of his eyes, not being able to so anything but watch.

“If you don’t stop touching her I’ll drag you back here and kick your ass myself!” Yuji yelled inside his own head, causing Sukuna to chuckle softly.

“I’d like to see you try that.” He simply let out as he began dragging your shorts down, your panties going down with them. “It’d give me some entertainment seeing you try to fight back as I have my turn with our girlfriend.”

“Stop calling her ‘our’ girlfriend! She’s mine, not yours!” Yuji shouted, almost breathlessly as he fought endlessly for control again, to no avail.

“Stop being so selfish. Just give me twenty minutes, at least.” Sukuna’s grin had faded and his eyes darkened at the sight of your pussy on display to him after he had dragged your shorts and panties down to your ankles. “You’ve had her to yourself all this time. It’s time you learn how to share.”

Sukuna promptly ignored Yuji’s helpless and frustrated cries as he pushed down his sweatpants and boxers just slightly to allow his erection to spring forward. Unfortunately, even though Yuji himself felt no lustful thoughts, Sukuna had control over his body, which meant that his dick was now hardened just at the sight of his girlfriend’s sleeping beauty.

As he held your legs slightly further apart, he watched the space between your cunt and his cock with extreme focus as he lined himself up between your thighs before pushing himself in slowly, forcing a short grunt to fall off of his lips. His eyebrows widened as he felt himself push further inside of you and his eyes quickly darted to your face to see that you were still sound asleep- No reaction whatsoever. Seeing that you could still snore through the situation, that dark smirk creeped up onto Sukuna’s lips.

“Fast asleep and she still takes us so well.” He groaned in a humoured tone as he began to shift his hips back and forth, drawing his cock in and out of your pussy. “Never before did I think that it would feel this good to be inside our girlfriend while I’m in control.”

His hips began to buck into you at a steady pace now, the sound of the bed creaking and skin slapping against each other as well as Sukuna’s low grunts filled the room. He was admittedly a little disappointed that he wasn’t able to hear the same loud moans and calls for his name the same way he could hear them when you had sex with Yuji, but it was still just as good to be in this position. There were faint whimpers that danced into his ear as his cock found your g-spot every time- Must’ve been from you subconsciously feeling the sensation in your dream.

Sukuna’s hands greedily gripped at your thighs, your waist- Wherever he could see that he could touch. He was really taking advantage of the moment where he saw fit and pawing at any bit of plush skin that he could find as he drove his cock into you.

The clenching of your gummy walls around his veiny cock was enough to make Sukuna go wild. Although he was technically fucking you with Yuji’s dick inside his body, it was all the same to him. He could still feel that pleasurable sensation, the feeling of his climax building up after about fifteen minutes of pure euphoria as he pounded into your sweet pussy.

“If this is how it feels, it makes me question why you’re so reluctant to touch her this way more often.” Sukuna growled hungrily as his thrusting began to grow even more violent as his palms squeezed both of your thighs on either side of his hips. “Doesn’t she look so helpless? I know you have the strength to pin her down and fuck her whenever you want to, so why don’t you?” His eyes trailed your stomach before going back up to your silent face. “If it were me in control 24/7, then she wouldn’t even get a chance to say no before I have her underneath me.”

That one line caused Yuji to let out another mental scream of anguish as he felt like punching a hole in his own mind. He couldn’t believe that this was really a situation that he was watching right now. It was like watching another man having his way with the person he loved.

“Fuck…” Sukuna laughed out as he lifted his head a little rewards the ceiling, chuckling huskily as the feeling of adrenaline washed over him. “It’s even better when she doesn’t fight back.”

“You’ve had enough time, now let her go!” Yuji pleaded.

“You’re too gentle with her.” Sukuna interrupted, once again ignoring Yuji’s attempts at trying to reason with the disgraced one. “Asking her if ‘this is okay’ and being overall really soft with her like she’s a piece of glass. How does it not drive you wild? How have you never had the urge to just do whatever you liked with her without asking if she’s okay with it first?”

“Because consent is important and I care about how she feels!” Yuji spat out. “Surrender your body back to me now!”

“I haven’t even gotten to the good bit yet though…” Sukuna smirked, obviously referring to the opportunity he’s about to get to cum inside of you. There was a sort of madness that sparked within Yuji after hearing that, now even more than there had been since this whole thing started.

Wanting to reach that high even quicker, Sukuna picked up the pace and pounded himself now even more desperately into you. Watching your breasts bounce up and down as his cock slid easily in and out of your soaking cunt, it made him wish that the moment could last forever. He felt at a pure high in the situation he was in and it made him genuinely consider forcibly switching out with Yuji whenever he liked simply to have his way with you more often without being fought on it.

You probably wouldn’t understand what was going on if it happened, and you would just think that Yuji was a little more hornier and touchier than usual if Sukuna felt like fucking you, but that made the idea sound even better to him. If Sukuna could simply swap out with Yuji and get to fuck you while you simply complied thinking it was your loving boyfriend, then that practically gave Sukuna all of the freedom in the world— And it excited him. He never truly understood how beneficial it was to him that Yuji had a girlfriend until now.

Sukuna could feel the sensation building up in his balls, and he was just seconds away from release. He gripped onto your hips tightly and licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the graceful moment to arrive.

However, he was eventually met with disappointment as Yuji had finally won his body back from Sukuna.

As soon as the mental marks of Sukuna’s presence over his body had faded away, Yuji immediately pulled out of your body. Unfortunately though, he immediately felt the effects of being denied his own orgasm, which admittedly caused his to whine at the fact that he couldn’t cum. Though, it was more of a loss to Sukuna who had been so close to releasing his cum inside of your pussy and admiring you as you slept soundly with your cunt leaking with his seed.

But Yuji spared no moment to try and go back as if nothing happened, trying desperately to suppress the memory of that moment and the view of Sukuna forcefully fucking you in your sleep.

He swiftly grabbed at your shorts and panties to pull them back up the where they were before and lower your shirt once again in a gentle manner to cover the parts of you that had been exposed to Sukuna just moments prior. As he also tried tried to stuff his erection back into his pants, he felt himself groan with frustration as he saw that he was still hard, despite having his body taken over by the lustful one. He supposed it was because he was feeling the after effects of orgasm denial and the fact that he was still knelt hovering above his girlfriend, but there was no way that he was going to take advantage of you the same way that Sukuna did.

Though, as he shifted slowly to make his way off the bed with the intention to go to the bathroom and get rid of his boner himself, he felt your palm latch onto his wrist and prevent him from leaving. It had seemed that you had just woken up, completely unaware of the fact that Yuji and Sukuna had just previously been fighting for control over your body and just knowing that you had woken up to see your boyfriend with a tent at his crotch.

“Yuji, if you felt that way, why didn’t you wake me up?” You softly smiled at him, your eyelids still half-closed from just waking up as you gestured towards his erection.

He gasped and stared back at you with surprised and widened eyes as he saw that he had woken you up with all the moving. His face flushed with a bit of embarrassment.

“I just… Didn’t want to disturb you.” Yuji gulped.

“So you were just going to leave and take care of it yourself?” You pretended to frown as you pulled him back against the pillows of the bed. “That’s what I’m here for, right?” You hummed softly against his ear as you very steadily went to climb on top of his lap, straddling him.

Although it was completely consensual now and Yuji did at least want his boner to be taken care of, he hated that Sukuna could still watch from behind his eyes, especially after what he had done to you.

As your hands slowly roamed his hips and stomach before grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them down once again to free his pulsing cock, Sukuna watched with clear, dirty intent from the back of Yuji’s mind, wondering if there was ever another perfect time to jump in again and take the pleasurable moment all for himself.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

aemond targaryen x prostitute!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: jealous!aemond x prostitute!reader; aemond finds himself being pulled in by the most famous woman of the street of silk, but tempers flare when he sees her pay attention to other lords

word count: 2.5k

tags: mature content, sex work, mentions of past chocking, reader being handled slightly roughly in places

note: this is technically a continuation of my one-shot riding a dragon, but can be read as a standalone tbh

it was rare for a woman of the street of silk to actively look forward to a particular client’s visit. love or affection were things to be sold in this part of town, on a per night basis. those moments spent being so utterly naked, vulnerable with someone, were not supposed to signify any real connection between the parties involved. the women simply played whatever role that was the desire of the one paying, and come morning the reality would set in, leaving behind only a pouch full of coin as evidence. and there was no actress more adept at this theatre, than y/n.

she could tell instantly if a man needed her to be adoring or dominating, have her bat her doe eyes at them or a wicked smile. but the dragon prince had been an enigma to her that first night he had visited. his expression was unreadable, but he was prone to a high temper clearly. there was ice in those veins, yet fire behind that eye. she could sense that associating with him was dangerous for her, for he was not the kind of man who would offer her sweetness and warmth, he was fire she risked immolating herself with.

yet, the next night she was entertaining the brothel’s visitors, she found her eyes searching for silver hair in the crowd. though like most nights, that night too there was a line of men showering her with praises for her beauty, her grace, her charm, and yet she felt unsatisfied. she played her part though, ever dutiful. but as the lord who’s name erased itself from her memory as soon as he tied his pants back on, left her after a tedious session, she stood by her window and stared in the direction of the red castle that loomed over the city.

she wondered if he was sleeping in there, probably on a large, comfortable bed, made up for him by a small army of servants. she imagined he had had a full supper complete with wine, before letting sleep come to him. perhaps he was tired from whatever work had pulled him away from her that morning. or perhaps, she thought with a twisted smile, he was lying in the arms of some fine lady, her fine jewellery placed on a table next to his bed, and her fine clothes discarded to the floor.

she chuckled at her own foolishness, for forgetting where she stood, what part of town, what building. how could she have thought for a moment, that a prince would revisit her? he had his dragons, crowns, and ladies. he had no need for her. he would remain a pleasant memory, a story she would tell the younger girls when they ask her about her heyday, about days when her name decorated the tongue of every noble lord in king’s landing, she thought with a humourless smile.

as she slept that night, she dreamt of dragons, castles and bright fire. seven nights passed, until she no longer held hopes of any prince gracing her with his presence.

those seven nights – aemond targaryen was being torn apart from the inside.

on one end, pulling him, was his desire to remain the dutiful son his mother believed him to be, to stick to that code of a knight that cole was always talking about, the desire to be strong – and strong men were not beholden to the charms of a whore.

on the other, was her scent. he could smell her perfume everywhere. it was strong, sweet, it reminded him of flowers that lined his mother’s gardens. it clung to his clothes, to his skin. he found it inescapable, days passed and yet he felt stuck in the memory of her perfume.

he found himself less focused in those days, a fact which infuriated him even more. eventually he decided that perhaps if he fucked her one more time, he could get this longing out of him.

so he donned his nondescript cloak once again, and his feet took him back towards the brothel.

he did not have to waste time looking for her.

he entered the big salon where he had seen her dancing last time, and sure enough – she stood before him on the same raised platform. she was not repeating her movements from last time, he noted as he hung back in the crowd that was intently watching her. but rather than feeling captivated by the way her body moved, as he had originally been, he was infuriated.

the curves of her body were barely veiled in her dress, and on display for every man present to leer at. he was painfully aware that he was not the only one with a right to see her like this, no, he had no right on her at all. then why did he feel like it was something of his which was being stolen, with the way her hips were moving?

he wanted to pull her off that stage and drag her somewhere far from these men, and was fantasising about doing just that, when he saw one brazen lord rise and approach her. he was instantly on alert, but this did not seem to faze her at all, she only gave the lord a mirthful smile. then, the prince saw the silver coin in the lord’s hand, and when he realised that he was approaching to place it in between her breasts – he saw red.

the next moment the transgressing lord’s face was pressed against the wall, blood spewing out of his mouth since the force with which the prince had grabbed him had most certainly broken a teeth or two. there were shrieks that followed at the scene, patrons scrambling. but the one-eyed prince did not pay heed to any of it. his eye remained on her as his hand dug deeper into the lord’s neck.

she stood frozen, taken completely by surprise at his presence. her breathing had become shallow, her feet planted to the ground as her wide eyes stared back at him. somehow his expression seemed to be telling her that she was in fact lucky it wasn’t her who was being pinned by the prince so brutally.

in his eyes, in his twisted logic, she was equally to blame for this, he determined. she was clearly going to allow this other man to grope her – she had been smiling, seven hells.

the commotion had caused for the madame of the institution to come running to inspect the scene, “my prince! you cannot –” she was a firm woman, had it been anyone else causing her customers to panic, she would have told them off immediately, but how do you do that to a prince of the realm? she seemed speechless.

aemond simply shoved the man to the ground, before reaching for y/n. she did not back away, partly because she knew there could be no escape. but what scared her, was that she also wanted it.

he’d come back for her. against all odds, he had come back.

he grabbed her forearm and took off in the direction of the stairs that he remembered her taking him up last time, throwing a bag of coins in the direction of the madame with a heavy thud.

the tightness of his grip, reminded her of how his hand had felt around her throat last time, and she was guessing that this time too she would be left with a bruise to deal with. she did not protest though, as he dragged her to her room and then threw her to the bed.

he was on top of her, knees on either side of her and one large hand holding both of her own down above her head. when his other hand reached down, she thought he was going to chock her again. instead, it reached to place a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

“that was a wonderful performance. it’s remarkable that you have the stamina to practice after allowing all these men to fuck you every night.” he never had to raise his voice at her, but the danger in his tone was evident regardless. as was the jealousy. “i’m a hard worker, your grace.” she refused to let the fear in her heart show on her face.

“‘your grace’” he mocked her, “not many women of low-birth would know the proper way to address a prince. but i assume having fucked lords all your life, you’d have to be incredibly dense to not pick up a few things at least.” he was speaking the truth, plain and simple. and yet, his directness was cutting at her. but there was something more to his tone, she realised, something more accusatory, as if she had offended him by being a woman of the street of silk.

“noble lords such as yourself are very particular about titles, and i’m a fast learner.”

“yes i know, always looking to please. you did a brilliant job at it that first night, saying and  doing all the right things.” the memory of her insisting he remove his eyepatch when he fucked her was fresh in his mind. that one moment had seemed more intimate to him than lying inside her. she had kissed his scar, pretended to be so…affectionate. “but all of it is for show. the accent of a highborn woman, the exquisite clothes, the sweet words, the tender touches, they all hide what you truly are – a woman rotten to the core.”

“a whore.” she agreed. she had heard much worse insults in her life, but this one twisted inside her like a knife. when he had last been with her, he had treated her with more respect than she had known in her life. he hadn’t used her like an object, to be discarded once its usefulness was over. he had been curious about her, careful in his inspection and not hurried by his own desire. where had that man gone?

“yet that fact did not seem to trouble you when you fucked me last time?” her tongue was bolder than she had ever allowed it to be in front of a patron, but a wounded animal would instinctively fight back. “not all of us were born inside castles, or grew up being spoon-fed by servants. my world is leagues beyond yours, you cannot even begin to comprehend the dangers of it and i do not owe you an explanation as to how i survive in it.” she was suddenly very aware that he already had her pinned down on her bed with his body, and beating her senseless for her impertinence would be like child’s play for him. yet all he did, was stare down at her, his eye cold and emotionless. under its harsh gaze, she finally looked away, turning her neck so she wasn’t staring up at him.

“besides,” she felt a few hot tears roll down her cheeks, “if you cared so much about me fucking other lords, perhaps you should have shown your face here earlier.” if he could display his jealousy in such manner, then she decided that she would not hide her grievance at his seven night long absence either.

aemond knew that he could not have this right over her, the right to feel jealous, possessive. she was not his wife, she was not his in any way that mattered. and he was not hers, either. yet, he realised as the corner of his lips turned upwards, she was trying to claim this right over him, by being upset at his absence. he realised she felt it too, this unspoken pull they had towards one another.

“how many?” he coolly asked, causing her to turn back towards him, confused, “how many men… did you fuck… since i was last here?” he slowly repeated. she swallowed at his question, fearing that one wrong answer could earn her more than barbed words. “nine.” she replied, voice quavering. “and how much did you charge them?” that question threw her for a loop. “5 golden dragons each.”

to her surprise, he bent down at her response, and kissed her neck. “i will break–” his lips trailed further down her neck, “—five bones each—”, grazing her collar bone, “—of every man—”, her chest, “—who took what was mine.” a shudder ran down her back as he sealed his promise by pressing his lips to hers.

this time when he lay with her, she noted that something had changed. their first time, he had been less sure, his inexperience showing. now he was more confident, demanding, rougher with his movements. when his mouth laid kisses on her body, she knew she would find herself littered with bruises the next day. when he gripped her hips as he thrust into her, she felt his grip down to her bone. it was as if he we were attempting to touch every part of her skin that another might have lingered on, and leave his own imprint on each inch.

she too, committed her own small transgressions. she found herself moaning for him by name, with each thrust. gone were the chants of ‘my prince’, replaced with her whispering ‘aemond’, delicately as if revealing an ancient secret. if the prince minded such insolence, such disrespect to his station, he did not say.

neither of them attempted to move once they were spent. clothes long discarded, the prince remained slump with his head lying upon her chest, arms enclosing around her. she stared up at the ceiling, fingers absentmindedly playing with silver hair. “i can’t decipher” she suddenly began to say, more to herself than him, “whether you’re the noble knight, brooding, righteous and disciplined; or, the cruel prince, domineering, violent and selfish?”

most days he couldn’t decide where he lay on that scale either, aemond realised. but he answered instead, “for you, a bit of both.” her lips twitched upwards at the response. that, she could live with, she thought. as he shifted to remove his weight off of her, a small whine involuntarily escaped her. she wordlessly watched him pick up and wear his tunic and pants back on, knowing that to ask him of his plans to return would be of no use. but she did have something to clarify.

“it’s not an act.” he stopped tying the string to his pants, and looked down at where she laid. she was refusing to meet his eye, still staring upwards. “you said my “sweet words” and “tender touches” were an act. they’re not an act when it’s you.” her heart was hammering away at her chest as she confessed. she slowly turned to look at him and add “surely, you must know that.” how could he not see right through her, see how vulnerable he made her? she wondered.

when he looked inside those eyes, he saw an unabashed sense of sincerity. but his expression gave away neither acceptance nor rejection of her claim.

he put on his boots and gathered his things. as he stood by the door, he turned to her, “if i hear of you dancing, or entertaining another man for a single night, i will burn this place down and you with it.”

she smirked at his declaration, “is that a promise?”

note: i love this concept so so much not me already having plans for a next part thats maybe?? a touch of fluff? i need it after the angst

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Obsession | Ghostface, Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | Dead By Daylight

Summary. the ghostface isn’t known to be gentle, but when it comes to his... obsession, he can’t seem to bring out anything other than a wicked devotion that many could only envy, even if his muse couldn’t accept it just yet.

Warnings. intimacy, suggestive material, heavy petting, yandere vibes for ghostface tbh

Reader. Female reader <3

Word Count. 1392 words

Authors Notes. another danny fic lets gooooooooooooooo, only spell check was used and i wrote this in only an hour and a half while watching house of the dragon and barely able to speak english at this point. i love commas if you couldnt tell that already lmao. enjoy!

Obsession

the state of being obsessed with someone or something.

"she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession"

an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind.

plural noun: obsessions

ㅡ”without obsession, life is nothing.” John Waters

There was something in the way he held you that made his grip secure, where you could feel the groove under every knuckle and the rise of his calloused skin, it was safe. It was comforting, really, if you ignored the suffocating reality that this wasn’t a choice of your own free will, and that your current situation was one that you had to become accustomed to. Large, needy hands move around you as you lay on your back, and you remain still enough for him to get comfortable on you.

His mask is shifted upwards slightly enough to see his lips, a wicked smile shows between them, and you feel a shiver up your spine as your body relaxes enough for the Ghostface to not know of your own inner turmoil's that are hidden behind your eyes and above your heart. He rests his head on your chest, face turned up into the crook of your neck and shoulder, his mask laying on the other side of your body while a killer finds comfort in your warmth- legs open and his weight crushing you in an oddly pleasant way.

He smells of leather, iron, and cologne, his hair is longer than usual, the short black tufts have now become loose curls that tickle the side of your face and neck. His scruff is starting to grow, you note, feeling it scratch your skin as he nuzzles into you further to comfort himself. He finally stills, and you let out a small sigh, giving yourself some time to shift under him for your own comfort.

He's cold, so unbelievably cold, and he saps the warmth your body created like a leech does to an open sore. Your heart picks up a bit as you feel his gaze on you, looking through the flesh and into a deeper part of yourself that even you refuse to acknowledge. His eyes aren't meeting yours, yours are closed, relaxed, and moving behind the darkness of your lids, His eyes stare into your skin, looking up, unmoving. 

He’s waiting, you realize. Your hand twitches, before slowly coming up to rake your nails through his hair, a satisfied hum leaves his throat through unopened lips. But his eyes don't close. He expects more from his gaze. His muse. His lover. 

Another hand, at the same pace as its successor, moves under the opened leather jacket, before finding its way under more cloth to the cool feel of his back. He isn’t a corpse, but he lacks so much warmth, you almost worry for him, 

“Keep going.” He's curt, but his voice is soft, as you realize that this is Danny you're in the presence of. Your fingertips are warm, and the palm of your hand even more so, and as your dignity falls into nothing Danny finds himself pleased as you fall to him whims of your own volition. 

For a killer, one who lacks a heart, who lacks every shred of humanity that is expected of a man, he finds himself at the mercy of his instinct. He’s needy, clingy, desperate for your attention. The beast that craves the screams of his victims, a ghost in the night, a monster that thrives off playing with the mind of his victims finds himself at the feet of an unwilling woman whom he can't imagine a life without.

You start to scratch at his back lightly, and his skin raises at the attention, begging for more of you, before flattening your palm to soothe the red flesh. His mind is full of static, and he presses himself into your body even more, the need to crawl into your skin becomes more and more evident as he stares into your body once again, and your anxiety spikes.

He feels how your body reacts to him, fearful, yet pleased. Hesitant, but yearning. You enjoy the attention he gives you, the feeling of knowing how you’d never be rejected by him in any way, shape, or form. Your heart and body fight your mind as you force yourself to remember the blood that stains his hands, the thrill he feels chasing down his prey, his victims, and the subsequent glee as they take their final breaths under a hunting knife as the phone line is cut.

You were never going to be one of them. He assured you that.

You were to be worshiped by him, to have your feet kissed and your body touched with love and safety, to have your needs provided for as you keep him sane by merely allowing him to be near you- to take what he needs from you. 

But he also can't deny the jump of his heart when your voice quivers underneath him, or when you jump as you realize he's in the room much later than the time he entered it, the way you fight the urge to lean into him and his hands hold your face or when they grab at your hips.

He was in love with the way your skin felt against his, searing hot, as your bodies molded together in a way he can only describe as perfection. The way you style your hair to fit your face in the most pleasing manner, how you bite at your lip or cheek when thinking or absentmindedly, the way your fingers would tap against the countertops or the wheel of your car as music plays- either aloud or in your own head. Everything about you screamed at him to worship that part with every part of his being, his newfound, and unknown obsession.

He mouths at your neck while you continue to massage and scratch at his back, playing and pulling at his hair at the same time, His mind races with need as you take in a quick take of air, a broken whimper leaving your throat as he continues to mark up your neck as best as he could, his own hand coming up to your jaw, to hold your figure in place before you squirm as you usually do when in his hands.

Your senses are overwhelmed by him, the way he feels, the way his body looks laid on top of you as a mess of ebony rests just under your chin, his scent filling becoming stronger as he manages to somehow get even closer. You hear the sound of his mouth on your skin, his heavy breathing, the sounds that leave him before he slowly moves his hips into yours- leaving you pawing at his hair and skin as your own hips move to meet his.

He overwhelms you. He leaves you needy and empty, craving more of him as your mind screams to just leave him and run, but those thoughts are only pushed back further and further into your head as the emptiness and need grows more in importance at that moment.

You know he’d never hurt you, even if you asked, because he can’t bring himself to.

It brings you comfort as you fall into him, allowing your heart to open up, and he notices rather quickly.

Your body finally is able to relax, sinking into the bed under his weight, no longer fighting to keep yourself up. Allowing yourself to sigh and move your own hips against his, before you tug at his clothes in a silent beg for more and it leaves Danny feral for your need.

He grins again, wicked and delighted, teeth against your skin as you finally fall into his touch. He’d gladly lay himself bare for you, ready and waiting, watching in delight as dark eyes watch as you finally start to take what you need from him.

His obsession leaves him weak for you, open, and bare.

And it leaves you hungry, and watchful, moving to please the both of you.

It soon grows, and the obsession is a mutual agreement, of blood and kisses, with bared teeth and needy hands, playful and curious as time goes on.

It's an obsession, yes, you’ll admit that later on.

But is that so wrong?

[recovering-poetic-writer]

Here are my top manhwa picks

Category: reincarnation/rebirth

Death Is The Only Ending For The Villainess: Penelope Eckart reincarnated as the adopted daughter of Duke Eckart and the villainess of a reverse harem dating sim. The problem is, she entered the game at its hardest difficulty, and no matter what she does, death awaits her at every ending! Before the “real daughter” of Duke Eckart appears, she must choose one of the male leads and reach a happy ending in order to survive. But the two brothers always pick a fight with her over every little thing, as well as a crazy crown prince, whose routes all lead to death. There’s even a magician who’s enamoured with the female lead, and a loyal slave knight! But somehow, the favourability meters of the male leads increase the more she crosses the line with them! Alternative Name: Death Is The Only Ending For The Villain / Villains Are Destined to Die

What's Wrong with Being the Villainess?: Yoon Dohee transmigrates into the body of a villainess born with a silver spoon in her mouth and succeeds in completely turning her life around.With fierce and confident looks so unlike her actual timid personality, she becomes perfection itself by utilizing her knowledge as a graduate of a prestigious university.I thought as a villainess I would find only hatred and my own quick death, but this is totally the jackpot!!! Alternate name: Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant / so what if am the villainess? It's such a nice and comfortable lifestyle

The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother: I accidentally took possession of someone in a 19+ reverse harem novel. The problem is that I became Roxana Agriche, the older sister of the sub-villain. My damn father kidnapped the heroine’s brother. Now, is the only thing left to meet a terrible end from the vengeance of the heroine? But what if I can avoid that horrible development? “I’m also interested in this toy.” ‘I’ll protect you until you can get out of here safely.’ The heroine’s brother, Cassis Pedalian, will definitely be able to pay me back later. Alternative Names: How to Protect The Heroine's Older Brother/ The Way to Keep the Older Brother of the Heroine Safe

The Golden Haired Elementalist: I thought I was dead, but when I woke up, I was reincarnated as a nobleman's daughter?! The only thing I did in the seventeen years of my first life was studying. Now that I'm alive again, I won't live just to study! The second life of an ordinary middle school girl with a slightly strange personality, Jean, begins an unstoppable journey on this continent!Alternate name: The Golden Haired Wizard

The Duchess’ 50 Tea Recipes: When I opened my eyes I had become the duchess. But something isn’t right. I went as far as becoming a character but I’m just a duchess in name that gets mistreated by the maids and ignored by her husband. What a crappy life! Gosh, I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ll just quietly enjoy my tea, was what I thought. “Can you prepare tea for me again next time?” Something’s gone wrong with my cold husband!

My Husband Hides His Beauty: There is a family, who for generations, were rumored to be monsters. The lord of the Halstead castle, Erden. He adorns a mask to hide his scary face. Leticia, who was sent to marry Lord Halstead in place of her sisters, began to be referred to as ‘the woman who married the monster’ and was pitied by others. but there is a secret that they don’t know. “I’m always grateful to you, wife. You’re so kind to the unsightly me…” “well, since I’m Erden’s wife.” “I need to divorce you soon so you won’t be troubled by such things anymore… I’m sorry but I lost the divorce papers.” Well of course, that’s because I burnt them. “So I need more time…I think it’ll take more time.” I need to spread more scary rumors about the north to the lawyers. I am definitely not divorcing such a handsome husband!!! Alternative Name: My Secretly Hot Husband

This are some of my favs, hope you enjoy them too...

I can't drop site you can read them on but just search them and you'll find it. Note and follow for more book, manga, manhwa, manhua, anime, kdramas recs

[choccy-zefirka]

SOPHIA LAVELLAN BEING ANGSTY AND REPRESSED FOR OVER 3K WORDS OH MY

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Religious trauma and the resulting existential guilt, fatphobia (both external and internalized), brief mentions of disordered eating and sexual coercion (not noncon per se, just "blue balls" style guilt-tripping)

GENERAL CONTENT WARNINGS:

Nothing much happens in this "story", as it's more character introspection/backstory info dumping with no coherent start or end, so this is not recommended for people who favor action and plot progression. In a similar vein, this is also not recommended for people looking for something new and refreshing to read, as I am falling back on my ultimate comfort scenario: the Inquisitor falling in love with Alexius.

Finally, do note that Sophia is based heavily on what I was like when my self-deprecation was at its worst, so she might not come off as very likable or pleasant to read about. I did get better, though, and so will she.

Through most of her life — such a long, long life, it seems; a life that has left her terribly exhausted — Sophia has always been aware of her size. Keenly so. Painfully even. It is hard not to be, when you are both a mage and an elf: the unfortunate amalgamation of two groups that are meant to hide away from polite company. Slink back into the shadows, behind closed doors. Take up as little space as possible. Do their utmost not to offend the delicate sensibilities of good, proper, virtuous human Andrastians by sticking out like an eyesore.

She tried not to be an eyesore, she truly did, especially when she was younger. But woefully, she stood no chance. Not when, during endless attempts to enlighten the young Circle mages — and Sophia oh so wanted to be enlightened, to be shielded from demons by the Chantry's Word — the Circle's resident Mother kept giving dirty glares to the quiet elf, hunched over her desk at the back of the class. Especially when the sermon was about the hapless, emaciated slaves that the Prophet freed from the wicked magisters — greedy and gluttonous and engorged like ticks on blood.

After that, how could every morsel of bland Circle food not feel like a sin? How could the pinch of the standard-template, mass-sewn robes not feel like a righteous punishment for daring to have soft folds on her back?

So yes, every day of every year she's lived — from girl to woman, ever older but, much to her despair, never wiser — she has felt too big, too wide in the waist, with too much stomach and arm and thigh. Every day, every moment, save for one specific circumstance: when she is kneeling in front of a statue of Andraste. Like she is doing now, with candle flames flickering softly in front of her and Skyhold's garden murmuring something in wet dewy rustles behind her back.

When faced with the Holy Bride, when looking up timidly into that implacable white-stone face — free of anguish and imperfection; free of everything that's wrong about Sophia — she feels small. Like a gnat that has flitted in from the garden, lured by the candlelight. Like a speck on the hem of the Prophet's robes.

And this is not much of an improvement from feeling big. Least of all now — when she is supposed to be the Herald of Andraste's will. She is supposed to walk amongst the faithful as though she were this pristine statue made living flesh, with a serene countenance, unsullied by the failings of common mortals.

But instead of living up to her role — the honor, the blessing of following in Andraste's footsteps to vanquish an ancient evil — Sophia is still mired in her pathetic... gnat struggles. With no victory in sight.

Since the day when her own mother staggered away from her, shaking, speechless, her widened eyes reflecting the demonic light at her daughter's fingertips — Sophia has been taught, over and over, that all her thoughts and dreams are stalked by malignant spawn of sheer evil. That these otherworldly predators will use any faltering thought, every impure impulse as a chance to crawl under her skin and melt her from within in searing, bone-cracking pain, warping her into an abomination. A creature of no thought, no reason, driven by the sole impulse to devour and destroy, be it with fire or ice or whips of lighting, or even bare claws — in as many different ways as there are different demons.

Her instructors seemed to think that her soft body made her particularly vulnerable to Sloth... But there is also Fear, which, despite her best efforts, continues to nibble on her heart with its rotting teeth every time she hears news of a new rift, and instantly starts imagining the poor commonfolk, screaming and colliding in panic and collapsing into contorted heaps of acrid charred flesh, as their homesteads go up in green flames.

There is Pride, the many-eyed shadow with steely talons that Sophia can almost feel on her shoulder when she does pull herself together, and addresses her followers.

A tightly wound, cutting string always twangs inside her heart when she takes in the upturned, awe-struck faces of all the people brought together under the flaming eye banner: soldiers tired of being pushed across the chess board by squabbling nobles when the heavens are raining fire and brimstone; mages committed to turning their dangerous powers to serve the light, against of the darkness wielded by the maleficars of Tevinter; simple farmers who may not know much in the way of combat but still want to make themselves useful; and so many non-humans, somehow inspired by her example... She looks at them all, and realizes that she's tricking them into believing that she is competent. That she can properly protect them.

If that were true, she'd have felt justly satisfied with her grand feats. But she is still a gnat, and posing as a mighty mother eagle, with so many faithful under her wing, is folly. Hubris. A delectable meal for the clawed monstrosity behind her back.

There is Rage, which smothers and blinds her with its bubbling white-hot froth, the instant she recalls what her enemy's forces did to Haven. How the Inquisition's first campsite crumbled to a whisper of ash in the wind, under the claw sweeps of contorted red lyrium husks and the beating of a blighted dragon's wings.

It is good to feel angry, Lady Vivienne told Sophia, for anger keeps you going when all else fails. A brilliant, shrewd politician, she is not as easy to fool as the trusting refugees, bless their hearts... But even she did not seem to realize that this wisdom is best suited for good, strong-willed mages like her; not struggling weaklings like Sophia. Someone who might as well have a target painted in her back, inviting the demons to dig in.

Particularly the one last demon that, as of late, has poisoned her soul the most; and given her the most reason to feel unworthy of her title.

Desire.

Perhaps the most repugnant, filthy creature of them all.

Never before has this demon has held her so firmly in its grasp. Not even she was a teenager, crying herself to sleep every night, helpless as a beached fish against the forbidden thoughts that snaked into her skull.

Like when the stained-glass glow hit a girl's hair, and Sophia sank into a floral, wistful vision of the two of them doing each other's braids... And perhaps... Kissing a little afterwards. Or when a boy stretched in his classroom seat, still drowsy after a long night of homework, smiling a loopy little smile — and she sighed over how lovely it would have been, to doze off with her head resting on his shoulder and his arm holding her close.

Surely, none of those words were in the Chant.

Yet whatever inappropriate... fantasies she'd have back then, repeatedly putting her hard-earned goodness into jeopardy — they are nothing compared to the current fog that churns within her. An endless spiral of want.

She can feel it curl and uncurl somewhere at the bottom of her ribcage. Scalding-hot like the afternoon air in the month of Solace, it expands towards her heart, and most disgracefully, down between her legs, whenever she thinks back to a certain pair of eyes — brown as the noble wood of the Chantry pews, yet with a star-burst of silver around the pupil... Perhaps the mark of magic, like the bright yellow that drowned out her own natural Hazel.

And not just the eyes, shame on her! The narrow, slightly curved nose; the angled cheekbones; the thin lips; the intricate map of lines...

The face that first leered at her from underneath an ostentatious red hood, and then, after many weeks in the Inquisition's custody, started meeting her gaze with an unexpected softness. Most peculiar for... For a magister.

Still on her knees before the statue, still horribly small and lost in the night, Sophia plants her hands into the cold pavement and hangs her head, letting her long golden braid — the one appealing part of her; the one trait that might create at least a superficial resemblance between her and Andraste — fall into dust.

This is the most terrifying thing of all, isn't it? Of all the people who might awaken the demon, she chose to obsess over the most dangerous. The corruption of Tevinter personified. The man who almost created a future where the world was a poisoned skyless wasteland, with the earth crumbling right into the Fade's voracious maw, and red lyrium gluing together what was left, like congealed infected blood.

Not that she thinks he is still the man he was when she leapt into his nightmarish reality and struck him down. According to Dorian — another strong, skilled mage whom Sophia will never measure up to; who actually turned back time, with demons and cultists closing in around him, while all she could do was quiver and retch into her hand — his former mentor used to be different. Before the ominous stranger in Redcliffe came into being, there was a loving father and a devoted friend, a man whom Dorian respected above all others. Lofty praise from such an honorable comrade (who only respects Sophia because she plays the role of someone better).

And Sophia does believe that, if the change in the magister was the work of a demon — Despair, if she were to guess — he must have freed himself from its clutches. A feat she can only dream of.

She has been witness to that. She has seen inklings of his past self returning.

She sat in on a few of the lessons that the Inquisition allowed him to give to its younger mages — as a gesture of good will, following his aid with the escape from Haven. She, for a handful of fleeting hours, lived vicariously through him, rekindling her impossible dream of being an Instructor at her own Circle... Perhaps in the healing arts, the one thing she is supposedly decent at; decent enough for the First Enchanter to disregard her repeated requests for Tranquility, back in the day. But how could she, in good consciousness, teach others when she can barely handle her own demons?

No, the most someone like her can do is observe while another is in charge of the lesson. Which she did, gladly. Too gladly for a truly pious Andrastian.

She watched the magister's every fluid, confident casting motion with baited breath, feeling something warm and frantic thrash against her fingers when she pressed them against her throat. Like a silly girl many years her junior might feel.

She gasped discreetly as a smile slowly touched his eyes after a tiny elf boy, barely older than Sophia herself was when she first came into her magic, all cheeks and ears, showed him a fuzzy floating speck in his cupped hands. The first smile since the fake mask of "politeness" the magister had slipped on during their equally fake negotiation for the rebel mages.

And she blushed like an utter fool whenever he'd reach for a book or a trinket he wanted the children to practice a spell on — telekinesis, or size change, or a minor mending of some chipped-off part — and his hand would brush against hers. And linger sometimes. Oh Andraste.

Sophia sinks even lower, her forehead now touching the ground between her sweat-slick hands. She cannot bear to look at Andraste's statue any more.

And that is not even the end of her shameful memories!

She also... She also came to the magister for counsel.

Most unbecoming for the Lady Herald, the supposed leader of the legendary demon slayers; the crux of the great and powerful inner circle, where so many allies could have used their life experience to solve her many, many problems. The diplomatic Josephine, the resolute, courageous Cassandra — and, again, the brilliant and sophisticated Vivienne... She could have talked to any of them, instead of a captured Tevinter. But —

But that is the whole point. They are her allies, dare she say her friends! If they found out how much she is truly floundering, how confused and overwhelmed she gets (even at her supposedly mature age) when she has to disperse agitated crowds or butter up disagreeable politicians... All while being an elf and a mage and looking the way she does — it's like wading through a marsh with three boulders piled up on her back... If they realized how few rational, Maker-honoring thoughts reside in this foolish, floor-hitting head of hers, underneath the crown of matted golden hair... What if they were so disappointed, so let down, that they decided to rescind their friendship?

Sophia wouldn't bear it. She found little companionship in the Circle, even among her fellow elves, whom she once overheard whispering disdainfully about her, with their lips curled, their gritted teeth turning their words into quiet hisses. They called her "standoffish" and "holier than thou"... When all she ever did was try to curb her delight at talking to kin. Conceal it, lest the demons taint it as well.

There was one... notable exception. A higher-ranking Enchanter, who'd cornered her repeatedly in narrow corridors, placed his hand on the scrolls she was reading, lingered in her doorway — and once she had no choice but to pay heed to him, implored her to lay with him. If a man's desires are unsatisfied, he said, he becomes possessed by a Desire demon. And we can't have a Desire demon loose in our law-abiding, Chantry-approved Circle, now can we?

Sophia has since gone back and forth between believing him (demons are, after all, everywhere!) and wondering if he made that up to get under her robes. But back then, there was no doubt in her mind: she had to save him! Save the whole Circle! And... And seize her chance at one of those exciting secret trysts that she kept hearing about, heeding all the rumors with an atrociously curious — sinful, sinful! — ear.

She was, after all, at her smallest back then, after pushing her dinner across the mess hall table, towards the gaggle of ravenous little apprentices, day in and day out; and running up and down the winding tower steps until her soles bled and her frenzied lungs pushed waves of prickly copper up her throat.

But it turned out that even her smallest was too much. And when her body spread free of the robes that had hidden most of the folds, the Enchanter was so disgusted, he could barely finish. Even blowing out the candles in his quarters did little to obscure the horrors: her kin can see in the dark.

The memory makes Sophia stiffen, trying to shrink into an even tinier speck at Andraste's feet.

The — the point is... Being liked — maybe even admired, if Ser Blackwall was not conspiring with young Sera to prank her when he said that — is quite a novelty to her. And she is not ready to ruin this by showing her true colors.

The magister is... Was a different case. When they had just recently been enemies, it did not seem as daunting, to come to him with her foolish questions, her admissions of vulnerability. They had already seen each other at their worst; there was no rapport to ruin.

Until... Until "You had to deliver speeches at the Magisterium; will you proofread mine?" and "How do I keep this Orlesian lord from finding out I am terrified?" turned into "You will not believe the day I just had! How was yours?". And "I imagine this dreary weather makes you miss your homeland..." And "Will you keep me company as I check on the medicinal garden?". All accompanied by more accidental hand touching, more lingering glances, more scandalous daydreams, which clouded her eyes when they paused oh so impolitely on his lips.

Ultimately, the whispers of Desire grew too loud.

Oh, he has rolled up his robe's sleeves? Make sure you take in every detail of his arms! Do you think he also has hair on his chest? How about further down?

He is smiling again? Now imagine his face cupped in your hand, leaning into your touch! Imagine how his skin might feel under your fingertips; how his lips might taste!

What is this now? A tree root is blocking your little walk's path — and he is helping you step over it; supporting your waist? Quick, an outlandish what-if: pretend that if he ever saw you — all of you, curves and lumps and all — he wouldn't recoil!

Ponder this, Sophia; ponder this instead of prayer!

...And she had to stop seeing him.

Not that it helped.

At least, she supposes, this proves he was not doing this to her on purpose; with... with blood magic? With whatever hypnotic snare he cast around Redcliffe, so that none of the mages could tell the true past from the new future he'd created...?

No, that wouldn't make any sense. And it is insulting even to consider this! He wouldn't! Not any more! No — she is the only one at fault here, for failing to resist a demon. As usual.

At long last, Sophia musters the courage to lift her head up again. Her forehead is pounding, from all the memories, and from being rammed repeatedly into the indifferent, unyielding stone. She stares ahead with bleary eyes until the candles come into focus again, and wills her parched lips to tear apart.

"Blessed Andraste, Bride Everlasting, please forgive me for dishonoring Your name, for letting demons tempt me," she chokes out. "Please Andraste, I am trying to resist, to remain virtuous; I —"

The candle flame lurches. A gust of wind, Sophia assumes at first — but the whispering garden has fallen silent. Deathly still. The night itself seems as petrified as she is, and the two of them quietly watch the little golden tongues shoot upwards, much higher than their flimsy wicks should allow. First, a palm's length; then, a whole arm's, leaning towards each other, crisscrossing and intertwining, like the strands of Sophia's own hair.

She scrambles to her feet, terrified that the little chapel alcove has caught fire. But the flames do not ignite anything around them. Instead, they continue to wrap together in a joined dance, stretching like molten metal that's being shaped by a master smith... And before long, they take their final form. A translucent, reddish-gold silhouette, with a few features sketched in bursts of white fiery glow. The familiar nose, and eyes, and cheekbones. The thin thread of a mouth, smiling at her as the apparition reaches out its hand... His hand.

Sophia stumbles back, feet icy and throat burning. She recognizes this magic. Phosphomancy: the manipulation of light. At the Circle, they used to say that she also had a natural affinity for it, but she quickly abandoned the notion of learning more about it. And commanded herself to not as much as think of this vile witchcraft.

Because a phosphomantic spell was the first one she ever cast, as she'd perched herself on the kitchen table — Andraste, she thinks she can still remember the texture of the wood, warmed by her own body — while her mother scrubbed diligently at her human lady's tableware. She looked so tired, so despondent amid all her bleak drudgery, that Sophia decided to cheer her up. And, selfishly, cheer herself up, because it was not like she was given free reign of the humans' mansion, or allowed to play whatever games she pleased.

She was an eyesore even at that age — a round, clumsy elfling taking up too much space. While the lady's prim and proper children, with their smart clothes (starched thoroughly by Sophia's mother and the handful of other staff) and with their perfect little round ears, were to be seen and not heard — Sophia was banned from both. And since her mother would never allow her to help with chores, not with butter fingers like hers, Sophia was, more often than not, utterly bored. And everyone knows what Chantry says of bored children — of idle children.

On a whim, without knowing how, she'd caught the oval flash of sunlight reflecting off a silver spoon, twiddled her clumsy pudgy hands, and made it sprout a pair of bunny ears. Hop, hop the bunny went, bright as the golden sun, on its way to bring a smile to the face of the overworked elven maid...

But Sophia's mother was trying so hard to be good, respectful help. A perfect servant. She had gotten quite skilled at keeping her head down. At taking, and taking, and taking whatever the humans threw at her, with their hands or their mouths. All to keep her great boon — a job at an upstanding Andrastian household (words that she repeated so often that they are still burned in Sophia's mind).

So, far from smiling, she recoiled, terrified of the chubby imp that sat on the kitchen table. No longer her daughter — surely, the lady would not allow someone with a mage child to stay in her employ. Sophia knew that, even as a little thing — she could read that in her mother's horror-struck eyes. And her innocence was shattered, like the soapy wine glass that her mother dropped.

And now... Now the same magic is destroying the last remnants of her dignity. Her cursed hands have taken something pure and holy — the glow of the candles lit to praise Andraste — and twisted it into the likeness of the man that continues to haunt her.

"RAAAARGH!"

With an incoherent bellow, Sophia swats at the flaming apparition... Perhaps subconsciously hoping that the fire would bite her. That it would hurt. Because that's what she deserves.

But the magic dissipates before her fingers even meet the shimmering lines. The ghostly magister fades to nothing, with one final smile. And she is left with clenched fists, a heaving chest, and blotches of dust on her knees and at the tip of her braid.

In front of her, are completely innocuous candles, which are halfway to quietly sizzling into teary lumps. And not an inch behind, in the dark of the night, are all her demons, shoving and clamoring, stepping on each other's clawed feet. Rage and Despair are the most persistent; she imagines their paws on her throat, constricting her windpipe, making her retch out words that they put into her mind.

"I am doing my best!" she screams at the Prophet's statue. Still unmoving, still unheeding. Still so far greater than her.

"I have been doing my best for decades! If I had had my way, I would have been made Tranquil and become a Chanter! Your perfect servant! Good, respectful! But I am... I am me! A... A creature of sin!"

Her hoarse voice is still hanging in the air, a cloud of fine glass shards, when her stomach wrings itself into a knot. How could she stoop to this? Next thing, she will turn into an abomination!

But thankfully, the demons let her go as quickly as they grabbed her. And now, at last, she is aware of her size again. Too big, too heavy, filling up too much of this sacred sanctuary.

What can she do now, except weep?

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for February 4, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living Devotional Scripture: Proverbs 5:14-23 (AMP): 14 [The extent and boldness of] my sin involved almost all evil in the estimation of the congregation and the community. 15 Drink glasses of water out of your cistern [of pure marriage relationship], and fresh, running waters out of your well. 16 Should your offspring be dispersed abroad as water brooks in the streets? 17 [Confine yourself to your wife] let your children be for you alone, and not the children of strangers with you. 18 Let your fountain--of human life--be blessed [with the rewards of fidelity] and rejoice with the wife of your youth. 19 Let her be as the loving hind and pleasant doe [tender, gentle, attractive]; let her bosom satisfy you at all times; and always be transported with delight in her love. 20 Why should you, my son, be infatuated with a loose woman, embrace the bosom of an outsider, and go astray? 21 For the ways of man are directly before the eyes of the LORD, and He [Who would have us live soberly, chastely and godly] carefully weighs all man's goings. 22 His iniquities shall ensnare the wicked, and he shall be held with the cords of his sins. 23 He will die for lack of discipline and instruction, and in the greatness of his folly, he will go astray and be lost.

Thought for the Day

Verses 14-15 - Using poetic symbolism, today's verses teach the principle of monogamy and warn of the destruction that adultery produces. Marriage is likened to a cistern of water. Water quenches thirst and is a good symbol of a love relationship. We all thirst for intimacy. True refreshment in marriage is born out of intimacy between a man and a wife. The Song of Solomon also refers to the exclusivity of the marriage relationship, likened to a secret garden. Solomon described his beloved as a sealed fountain; closed to all others, but open to him - a "fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon" (Song of Solomon 4:12,15). A third party's intrusion spoils the "water." The cistern of love that refreshes husband and wife becomes bitter, affecting the relationship and the family.

Verses 16-17 - Adultery can produce illegitimate children and a breakdown of the family. The verses above extol the joy that can be had within the unbroken family unit, ideally composed of a man, his wife, and their offspring.

Verses 18-23 - At times, the delight in the spouse of one's youth can slip away. The enemy then tries to tempt people to quench their thirst in the embrace of an outsider. While reading this, you may be facing the temptation to embrace someone outside of your marriage. These verses warn of the consequences of unfaithfulness. We should take them to heart. The final picture of the adulterer is one of being tied up in his sins. Like an animal that falls into a trap, it cannot escape. He will die. In marriage, as in everything else in life, the stakes are high. We choose peace and joy by obeying God's precepts, or pain and confusion by following the lusts of our flesh. By God's grace, let us choose to do right - not only for our sake but for our children's. Prayer Devotional for the Day Father, I thank you for Your grace toward each of us, that when we are tempted, You help us to do what is right. Lord, I intercede for all who are facing temptations and are struggling to do what is right. Lord, have mercy on them. Provide an open door of escape from the traps of the enemy! Give them eyes to see the way of escape, and the conviction and strength to flee from sin. I pray for marriages that are reeling from adultery and are on the brink of collapse. God, I pray that You comfort those who have been wounded by adultery, both the one who has committed adultery and the one who has been betrayed. I pray for healing in their relationship, healing for the children, and the grace for true repentance and true forgiveness. Only You can restore the most broken relationships, and I ask now for You to show yourself mighty on behalf of all who call on You with a sincere heart. Answer their prayers, God, and fill them today with faith, hope, and love. In Jesus' Name, I pray! Amen.

From: Steven P. Miller Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeper-watchman https://www.facebook.com/ParkermillerQ/ Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, @StevenPMiller6; #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981

Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956 URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259

[sokimyork]

Why Long-Sleeved Golf Shirts Are Essential for Every Woman's Wardrobe?

Any woman's wardrobe should include long-sleeved golf shirts. Beyond the golf field, these long sleeve golf shirts for women provide protection, style, and utility. Sleeve golf shirts provide several advantages whether looking for a laid-back but sophisticated style or being involved in outdoor activities. Every woman should consider these things and include them in her collection.

Unmatched Adaptability for Every Event:

Sleeve golf shirts are made with the ideal laid-back and businesslike looks. Their simple lines and custom fitting match many situations:

The traditional style guarantees conformity to dress standards by matching nicely with golf skirts or trousers, providing comfort while playing.

These shirts look great with jeans or chinos for coffee dates, weekend errands, or laid-back meals.

For a business-casual outfit, they can be stacked beneath blazers or worn with fitted pants based on their neat appearance.

Long-sleeved golf shirts are a great mainstay in every wardrobe because of their versatility.

 Protection From the Elements:

Women who engage in outdoor activities sometimes find themselves in extreme weather, hence protective attire is important. Lightweight but strong materials with great coverage define long-sleeved golf shirts.

Many long-sleeved golf shirts have UPF-rated materials that protect the skin from damaging UV light, therefore lowering the long-term damage and sunburn risk.

Whether dealing with a sudden drizzle or a cold breeze, these shirts offer a pleasant barrier that lets outdoor activities go unbroken.

The utilitarian advantages make sure these shirts serve purposes beyond just fashion statements.

Unmatched Coziness:

Any wardrobe decision should first consider comfort, so long-sleeved golf shirts provide it easily.

Most shirts are moisture-wicking materials that prevent sweat and guarantee comfort during physical exercise.

Including elastane or comparable fibers gives a stretch fit that lets you move freely in sports or everyday use.

Excellent for layering, these shirts provide warmth on cooler days without overheating.

Their comfort-oriented design qualifies them for long wear—on the course or in daily activities.

 Fashion- Forward Decisions

Available in various colors, patterns, and styles, long sleeve golf shirts satisfy different tastes in style. There is something for everyone, from strong designs to understated colors. Modern elements abound, from zipped collars to contrast stitching and subdued logo placements.

Tailored cuts and well-placed seams produce a pleasing form in slimming silhouettes.

Current designs include ombre patterns, geometric shapes, and color-blocking, maintaining a fresh and trendy appearance.

Women can quickly upgrade their outfits by including these chic choices.

 Worth and Durability:

Made to be durable and reasonably priced, long sleeve golf shirts are made of Strong fabrics, and fine stitching guarantees a lifetime even with repeated washing and outdoor exposure.

Usually machine-washable and quick-drying, these shirts are easy for busy lives.

Many companies today provide environmentally friendly choices using recycled materials to lower the influence on the surroundings.

These shirts' robustness makes them a sensible purchase without sacrificing comfort or appearance.

 Improving Efficiency

Long-sleeved golf shirts help ladies who participate actively in sports improve their performance. Their technical fabrics and ergonomic designs help motions by reducing distractions.

Flatlock stitching or seamless patterns help to minimize irritation during extended activity.

Many shirts are equipped with antibacterial treatments, which keep them fresh even after demanding exercises.

These shirts are perfect for casual and professional players thanks to such considerate elements.

Final Thoughts,

Every woman has to have long-sleeved golf shirts in her collection. Combining adaptability, safety, comfort, and style, they flow naturally between the golf course, laid-back events, and business environments. These golf skirts for women appear to be a wise and fashionable purchase, given their performance-enhancing qualities and durability. Whether one prefers an active lifestyle or classic wardrobe basics, long sleeve golf shirts are the ideal choice.

[jonowen007]

Say Goodbye to Boob Sweat: Discover the Benefits of Breast Buddies

Boob sweat, under boob sweat, whatever you call it, it’s an uncomfortable issue many women face. The buildup of moisture beneath the breasts can lead to discomfort, unpleasant odors, and even skin irritation. Breast Buddies offer a uniquely effective solution to this common problem. These innovative products are specifically designed to absorb moisture, keeping the under-breast area dry and fresh. In this article, we'll explore the benefits of Breast Buddies and how they can make a significant difference in your daily comfort and hygiene.

Understanding Boob Sweat

What Causes Under Boob Sweat?

under boob sweat occurs when the skin beneath the breasts becomes moist due to perspiration. This area is particularly prone to sweating because it is often covered by clothing and lacks proper ventilation. Factors such as hot weather, physical activity, and even certain fabrics can exacerbate the problem. For many women, this persistent moisture can lead to skin irritation, rashes, and an unpleasant odor.

The Impact of Boob Sweat

The discomfort associated with boob sweat goes beyond just feeling sticky. Prolonged exposure to moisture can result in chafing and irritation, sometimes leading to painful rashes and fungal infections. This can significantly impact a woman's quality of life, causing discomfort during daily activities and even affecting self-confidence.

Introducing Breast Buddies

What Are Breast Buddies?

Breast Buddies are specially designed pads that fit comfortably beneath the breasts. They are made from high-quality, absorbent materials that effectively wick away moisture, preventing it from accumulating on the skin. By keeping the under-breast area dry, Breast Buddies help to maintain a fresher and more comfortable feeling throughout the day.

How Do Breast Buddies Work?

The secret to Breast Buddies lies in their unique construction. They feature multiple layers of absorbent material that draw moisture away from the skin and trap it within the pad. This prevents the buildup of sweat and reduces the risk of skin irritation and odor. Additionally, the pads are designed to be discreet and comfortable, fitting seamlessly under clothing without creating bulk or visible lines.

Benefits of Using Breast Buddies

Moisture Absorption

One of the primary benefits of Breast Buddies is their superior moisture absorption. By effectively wicking away sweat, these pads help to keep the skin dry and reduce the risk of irritation. This is particularly beneficial for women who live in hot climates or engage in physical activities that cause them to sweat more.

Odor Control

In addition to absorbing moisture, Breast Buddies also help to combat unpleasant odors. Sweat itself is odorless, but when it mixes with bacteria on the skin, it can produce an unpleasant smell. By keeping the skin dry and minimizing bacterial growth, Breast Buddies help to maintain a fresher and more pleasant scent.

Comfort and Confidence

Wearing Breast Buddies can significantly enhance a woman's comfort and confidence. The pads are soft and breathable, providing a comfortable barrier between the skin and clothing. This helps to prevent chafing and irritation, allowing women to go about their day without worrying about boob sweat. Additionally, the improved hygiene and reduced odor contribute to a greater sense of confidence and well-being.

Skin Health

Maintaining dry skin beneath the breasts is crucial for preventing various skin conditions. Prolonged moisture can lead to fungal infections, heat rashes, and other skin issues. By using Breast Buddies, women can protect their skin from these problems, promoting better overall skin health.

How to Use Breast Buddies

Placement and Fit

Using Breast Buddies is simple and straightforward. The pads are designed to be placed directly beneath the breasts, where they can effectively absorb moisture. To ensure a secure fit, it is important to position them correctly and adjust as needed. Breast Buddies are available in various sizes to accommodate different body types and preferences.

When to Use Breast Buddies

Breast Buddies can be worn anytime moisture control is needed. They are ideal for daily use, especially in hot weather or during physical activities. Women can also benefit from using them at night, particularly if they experience night sweats. Additionally, Breast Buddies are perfect for special occasions when staying dry and fresh is essential, such as weddings, parties, and other events.

Care and Maintenance

Breast Buddies are designed for single use and should be replaced regularly to ensure optimal hygiene and effectiveness. After removing the pads, it is important to clean the under-breast area thoroughly to prevent any buildup of bacteria or residue. Proper care and maintenance will help to extend the life of Breast Buddies and maximize their benefits.

Conclusion

Boob sweat is a common issue that can cause significant discomfort and inconvenience. However, with the introduction of Breast Buddies, women now have an effective solution to this problem. By absorbing moisture, preventing odor, and promoting better skin health, Breast Buddies offer a simple yet powerful way to combat under boob sweat. Whether you're dealing with hot weather, physical activity, or just everyday life, Breast Buddies can help you stay dry, comfortable, and confident. Say goodbye to boob sweat and experience the difference with Breast Buddies today.

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

@lesbiankiliel

@its-maemain

@whatastupidnameyounobody

@apatheticlexicographer

@abyssal-ali

5 Favourite Characters Poll (Tag Game)

I was tag by: @star-mum

Rules: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite.

Thanks you so much for the tag

Tags <3: @meeks-beas @practically-an-x-man @outer-space-face @trashworldblog @mydearlybeloathed

[teenmanhua]

Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant

Read manga "Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant" on teenmanhua.com In a devastating novel, I possessed the body of an evil woman who was hated no matter what she did. But that despair was short-lived. "I will fix this dress to your liking immediately" "Of course it is, there's no such thing as homework here." "This is the only gem in the empire that you want to own" As long as I frown and sit still, everyone around listens to me. What's the point of living a miserable life on your own? Maybe I'll feel more comfortable if I just live like an evil woman. "Father, is it necessary for you to solve formulas in this slow and inefficient way?" I think it would be better if I was a rich woman. So I used all the knowledge I knew. "Why don't you give me the honor of escorting you?" It's tiring enough to deal with dad, where are the villains? What if this person broke his millionaire plan? A manhwa version adapted from the novel: "Isn't Being A Wicked Woman Much Better?". Hope you will love this story and give more support to treemanga.com Read the full article

[let-them-read-fics]

Rivalries Of The High Seas

Requested By Anon: "Pirate AU, enemies to lovers."

AU: Pirate

Pairing: Captain!Rosé x Fem!Captain!Reader

Word Count: ~ 7,375

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Injury (Inflicted On Reader), Dangerous Situations, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Anon, thank you for this one! I've never seen the movie you mentioned in your request, but you did well in explaining what you wanted to see here. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

PS ~ Captain Rosé could step on me and I'd say thank you

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Death isn't a new thing to you. It isn't some far-off, enigmatic fear capable of tearing down your psyche anytime the topic is brought up. In fact, you're faced with the harsh realities of it almost everyday, given your ranking. Even still, when you woke up this morning, you hadn't expected for the day to consist of you meeting your end. 

Your hands remain clasped together tightly, bound to the rickety wooden chair you've been securely strapped into by layers of rope and chains. Your wrists burn as the rough material pulls against your skin, surely leaving dark marks by now, but that's the least of your worries as you eye the bandits standing before you. Their faces hold smug grins, cheeks pulling back in eerie smiles to reveal crooked teeth. "I won't give you the pleasure of seeing me beg for my life. I accept my fate." You say bravely, holding your head high. 

"How noble, Captain." They sneer, leaning far too close for comfort. You fight the gag that works its way up your throat at the smell of them, the wicked stench burning your nostrils as it invades them. 

"Even if you escape now, the rest of my crew will come for you." Rosé finally speaks from behind you, sitting in the same state as you as she glares at the surrounding men. Her fingers futilely pull at your shared restraints for the millionth time, brushing along your wrist in the process. 

"It's cute that you think that matters. We'll be long gone by then."

Her head lightly pushes against yours as she leans back in her chair, seeking to evade the man when he enters her personal space. For some reason unbeknownst to you, your blood boils at his actions -- though Rosé is your enemy of sorts, seeing that she's a rival captain herself, you can't help but want to keep him away from her. 

The vile creature parts her legs with an evil smirk on his lips, his filthy hand groping her thigh as he runs his fingers along her beautiful skin. She whimpers in protest, growing afraid of what he'll do to her in her captive state. Had she been unrestricted right now, she would've most definitely cut his hand off, forever reminding the world of his misdeeds. 

"Just get it over with!" You shout angrily, voice hoarse from all the screaming you've done today. You've grown tired of the game they've been playing for over an hour, flipping between beating and ridiculing you relentlessly. 

"Alright, alright," their leader chuckles, putting his hands up as he approaches you. He instructs his men to be on standby, ready to gather around the two of you and hoist you into the air. They wait for the all-clear to throw you overboard and into the chilly sea below, full of creatures you've seen during your fateful adventures over the years. There are certainly worse ways to go, and you attempt to come to terms with what's about to happen. Perhaps this is a poetic end for you -- being laid to rest in the place that you've spent most of your life and made countless memories.

"Keep those eyes on me as you fall. I want to remember what it looked like to take down the infamous Y/N L/N." You narrow your eyes at their leader, grimacing as they scan over his greasy, jet black hair and tattered overcoat. Aren't the "bad guys" supposed to at least be stylish? He's a sorry excuse for one if so. 

"Kiss my ass." You utter, spitting at him. He lunges forward, just like you expected -- seriously, why are men so predictable? -- and takes the collar of your shirt between his fingers. He delivers a swift blow to your left cheek, only allowing you a second to recover before pulling your head back up to give the same treatment to the other side. 

You can feel Rosé tense behind you, doing all she can to reach for you and offer comfort. 

With a pained groan, you spit out a mouthful of fresh blood and raise your head to look at him again. "You know, you're not nearly as observant as you think you are." You smile, ignoring the pain that shoots through your busted lip. Before he has time to react, you raise your foot in one motion, swiftly connecting it with his crotch.  How could they neglect to tie your feet? That's practically Pirate 101.

He doubles over in an instant, lungs void of the air necessary to speak another insult in retaliation to your act and body incapable of any further movement. His men make the decision for him, taking this moment as a sign to follow through with their plan and throw you over. Shouts and cheers pierce through the air above you as you make your quick descent, not even having time to say a goodbye to Rosé or offer a final word to the universe. 

Cold water immediately rushes over your heated skin as you plunge into the waves below, its frigid temperature almost taking what little breath you managed to store away in your lungs. Aided by the water's altered state of gravity, you're able to work your hips past a few of the loosely tied ropes that rested against them. 

One thing you admire about Rosé is her quick thinking. She's smart -- while you distracted the leader, she took the opportunity to pry off some of the restraints that required more time and effort, just like you hoped she would. Her slender fingers inconspicuously wiggled their way out of the ropes before freeing you from them as well, and the bandits were none the wiser. Her previous actions make this part all the more easy, and after spending a while on the final ties, the two of you kick off of your chairs and head for the surface. It's a struggle, no doubt, with the way you have to fight to bring the chains up with you and keep them from pulling you further under. But eventually you reach the surface, once again filling your lungs with that miraculously fresh air that they so desperately craved. 

The saltwater stings as it flows over your face, getting in your eyes and rushing over all the wounds you've accumulated. Rosie sputters from beside you, struggling a bit to keep her head up, so you extend an arm for her to use to push herself up. You tell yourself you're only doing it -- that is, making sure she doesn't drown -- because she'll be useful in helping you survive. Deep down, though, your intentions extend further than that. 

Once you find a steady rhythm with the waves and the fear of drowning subsides for the time being, you scan the horizon line. "I see land -- over there." You say, using your head to point to what looks to be an island in the distance. "We'll swim when we have the energy and float when we need rest, okay?" She nods in response, and the two of you get set on your way. 

-----

Huffing from the pure exhaustion coursing through your bodies, you manage to drag yourselves onto shore before collapsing. The sand serves as a good place to lay, almost cradling you the longer you lay there. Tiny, rippling waves -- the aftershocks of much bigger ones -- lull into shore, fluttering past your ankles before being pulled back in by the tide. They lap against your skin, remedying your racing mind with their rhythm. Minutes pass in this cycle, setting you in a state of comfort before you remember everything you'll have to do before nightfall.

Once gaining enough strength, you raise your head and peek over at your rival.

She's sleeping. Of course. You can't blame her, but the sun -- once blazingly hot, perched high up in the sky -- is now setting, giving you a preview of the darkness that the night sky will hold. She turns, rolling her head towards you in her sleep, and you almost smile -- a light dusting of sand sticks to her puffed-out cheeks, and the bridge of her nose holds a small sunburn, making her look sunkissed and blushy. Y/N, stop that, you command yourself, shaking your head at your thoughts. She's your enemy, and she's the reason you're even in this mess in the first place. 

"Wake up," you nudge her, reverting back to your previously tense demeanor. The anger you possess for the situation you're in is returning en masse, wiping the pleasant thoughts of Rosé from your mind. 

She groans, keeping her eyes tightly shut as she attempts to ignore you. "Roseanne, we have to get up." Your voice is strong, commanding her just like your crew. Your crew, you think to yourself. Some of them were killed by the bandits while others were thrown into the prison chambers of your ship, left at the mercy of your enemies until they decide what they want to do with them. Your people are inventive and strong -- they'll likely find a way out of the sticky situation and reclaim victory. For now, though, you're left to worry about their fates as you attempt to survive on this island. If the elements and animals don't kill you first, the gorgeous woman beside you most definitely will. 

"I'm up!" She all but shouts, following another prodding from you. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively raises her hand to wipe her face -- you catch the chains before they can make contact and harm her, and she sends you an appreciative look. "Guess I forgot about these…" she shakes her arms, jiggling your restraints in the process, "Oopsie."

"Come on." You say, standing up and pulling her along with you. Her dilly dallying is making you impatient, and it only increases your levels of irritation. You don't have time to waste. 

"We have to break these," she states the obvious, searching the shore for a decently sized rock.

A sarcastic gasp slips past your lips as you look at her. "You don't say! I was thinking we'd just leave them on." She turns to glare at you, narrowing her eyes as she stops walking. Dear god, there's no time for this. With a mumbled "here we go", you allow her to continue. 

"You know, we wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you." 

"Me?!" You shout, completely taken aback. "Quite the contrary, Rosé. You're the one who led them to us!"

"If you would've accepted my offer, none of this would've happened. But you refuse to team up with anyone else. Look at where that got us now." She motions around herself to the island, expression settling back into an annoyed scowl as her eyes settle on you again. 

"It's not my fault that my crew is more trained than yours; I had no reason to merge our teams."

"An agreement would've solidified our strength!" She yells, stomping her foot into the sand. Her boots managed to survive the long trip here, but their material is completely soaked.

"I'm responsible for my crew, and my crew only. I had no decent reason to bring yours in with mine. It's just a liability and more mouths to feed." You say evenly, clenching and releasing your jaw a few times. 

She begins to fire off her rebuttal, but you tune her out for the most part and start walking further inland. She has no choice but to follow, and she does so while adamantly complaining. You throw occasional jabs to her arguments in order to keep her moving, and your plan works well. She's too busy bickering with you to notice that she's doing exactly what you want her to.

"...and you're so arrogant, Y/N! I mean, really. God, you're infuriating." 

"Are you done yet?" You ask, cocking your head to the side while you simply blink at her. She squints at you, about to give you another piece of her mind, but you glance down at the rock you led her to and she closes her mouth. 

"You can keep screaming at me or we can break these chains. Your choice." You shrug, pursing your lips. She cuts her eyes at you, but agrees with a huff, nonetheless. 

The two of you work together to find fittingly sized rocks, taking turns dropping them on your restraints and methodically working them against them. Eventually the chains give way, allowing your hands to wiggle out of their strict hold. You're the first to free yourself; once you're done, you find Rosé struggling in silence, refusing to ask for your help. 

"Here," you offer, extending a hand to her. Doing nice things for people without gaining something for yourself isn't something you do often -- you've been raised differently; grown more independent and self-serving after your time on the sea. 

"Oh, now you want to work together?" She quirks an eyebrow.

You put your hands up with an amused grin. "I don't have to help, feel free to do it alone." You stand, dusting the sand off of your clothes as you begin to walk away and investigate the island. She calls out behind you, annoyed shouts getting further and further away as you just smile and continue your journey. 

------

"Ah, glad you could join us again." You smirk, adding some kindling to the small fire you managed to set up during her time away. 

"Shut it," she bites back, glaring at you. 

"Tough crowd," you laugh, raising your eyebrows. For once, she doesn't say anything back. She busies herself with removing her shoes and socks, setting them next to the source of heat to dry before disappearing into the tree line. She returns a few minutes later, carrying with her a few different branches. Some of them are forked at the top, and she arranges them into a sturdy structure beside the fire as well. You try not to focus on how strong she looks as she does it, her muscles glistening in the fading evening light with a sheet of sweat.

To your surprise, she begins stripping. 

First her overcoat, which she drapes across the branch acting as a beam between the forked ones, and then her vest. She wrings them out individually, and you watch as the materials drip with what water hadn't already evaporated yet. The loose linen undershirt that she wears remains on, and you're thankful for that -- had she taken it off as well, you likely would've passed out. The blush on your cheeks deepens as you feel her eyes on you, and you keep your gaze trained on the fire. 

"Well? Are you planning to stay in those clothes all night?" She asks, running a hand through her hair to fix it and get some of the sand out. 

"If I didn't know better I'd say you're trying to get me naked, Rosie." You play, smiling harder when you see her roll her eyes and look away. 

"You wish," she scoffs, though you can see her stealing glances at you as you remove your clothes. She admires the shadows that the fire casts over your body, the flames dancing as they offer their beautiful warmth. The two of you go way back, having grown up as frenemies due to your professions, but she's always had a soft spot for you. You piss her off to no end, and yet somehow she can think of plenty worse people to be stuck with.

After catching her staring, you decide to tease her. You flex your muscles, making sure to be extra and really make a show of it. She blushes, hiding behind her hands to escape the situation. 

"Awww, somebody's shy." You say, chuckling at her. 

"Am not," she protests, though her sheepish grin sells her out.

"Prove it," you challenge, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Teasing her is one of your favorite pastimes. 

Tired of the games, she gathers all of the courage she possesses and stands, slowly sauntering her way over to you. Your eyes take in the sight of her, and she smirks; she works hard to stay in shape, and she knows she looks good. Countless weeks spent at sea, working alongside her crew on long voyages has left her with artfully tanned skin and a physique to die for. You go to compliment her, but she stops you before you have the chance, pressing a finger to your pursed lips. She trails it lower, blazing a path across your jawline and chest, stopping at your ribs. Your breath hitches, and she definitely feels it. You curse yourself for being so easy, already knowing what's coming. 

"Who's shy now, sweetheart?" She purrs out, smiling victoriously. 

How she's capable of switching demeanors so easily baffles you, but it ensures that no interaction with her will be boring, if nothing else. 

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pushing her away to break the growing tension. She's looking at you with some glint in her eye that you can't quite place -- all you know is that if she keeps doing it, things might escalate to a place neither of you are prepared for.

You clear your throat and step around her to adjust your clothes on the drying rack. "You can go ahead and sleep. I'll stay awake and keep the fire going."

She nods with a slight frown on her lips, though you don't see it. "Alright. But wake me up when you get too tired, okay?" You assure her you will, though truthfully your body is aching for sleep right now. The beating you took earlier did its worst on you, leaving your skin bruised and muscles knotted. She deserves to rest, though, and you're okay with giving her the first shift of it. Besides, your mind would surely keep you awake for the better part of an hour -- at least it'll be used to its fullest with her. 

What you don't realize, however, is that when she lays down beside you, cuddling into the sorry attempt for a bedroll that you threw together, she merely pretends to fall asleep. Likewise, when she settles her head in your lap, searching for a more comfortable place to lay it, she's fully conscious. She lazily smiles when you run your hands through her hair, wrapping the locks around your fingers in mindless patterns before releasing them and starting over. It's soothing, and soon enough she calms her eager heart enough to slip away to dreamland. 

--- A Few Days Later --- 

"Wakey wakey…" Rosé sing-songs, hovering over you. The two of you have settled into this familiar rhythm over the past few days, spending the daytime searching for food and supplies and taking shifts to sleep through the night. You've almost always ended up taking the latter opportunity, though sometimes Rosé would force you to rest first if you needed it badly enough. 

"Mmm," you groan in disapproval, rolling over. The sun is far too bright, and your upgraded bed situation is much too comfortable to offer any valid reason for you to leave it. Rosé knows how difficult it is to get you up, but she's learned some very useful tactics. 

"Y/N…" she drawls, voice like honey as it releases your name with care. Her lips are next to your ear, teasing you as her warm breath fans across your neck. You audibly swallow, not prepared for that in the slightest, and slowly peek your eyes open. She raises a hand to shield your face from the unforgiving sun, and you smile at the domesticity of the act. She looks like a dream -- her hair is fanned out, swaying peacefully in the calm breeze that rolls in from the sea, and she's grinning that killer smile down at you. Her previous sunburn has turned into a tan now, making her look even more irresistible somehow. 

"What do you want to do today?" You ask, lacing your fingers together as you put them behind your head. They work as a cradle, cushioning your head from the sand.

"I saw some berry bushes on the north side of the island. They didn't look like any poisonous kind I've studied about, so maybe we could check them out?" She suggests, sitting back on her knees with a quirked brow. 

"Sounds like a plan." You smile lazily, gazing up at her. A light pattern of freckles paints her cheeks, and you can't help but grin at how adorable she is. 

"What is it?" She asks skeptically, squinting at you. 

"You're just too cute for your own good, is all." You sigh, content as you stand up and tug a blushing Rosé behind you. She closes the "door" behind herself, sealing off the entryway to your humble abode. It's a panel of leaves and sticks, built to be sturdy yet lightweight and easy to move. She built it herself, and a sweet smile works its way onto her lips as she remembers the praise you sent her way after she presented it to you. 

--------

"If you don't slow down then I'm gonna slap you," she says, peering up at the trees that loom high overhead. In her distracted state, she neglects to look where she's going.

Her rambling is cut short by your hand darting out in front of her, effectively stilling her movements and words. You glance at the ground, prompting her eyes to follow the path they made and widen upon realizing what you just saved her from. An animal -- some wretched cross between a scorpion and pincher beetle -- continues its trip across the downed log that lays in front of you, menacing in its appearance. 

"Thank you," she breathes out, leaning into your side as you hold her and direct her away from danger. 

"Do me a favor and don't die, okay?" You quirk, scrunching your face up at her humorously. She shoves you, holding up her middle finger as she walks ahead and blazes a path for the two of you. You chuckle, grinning stupidly as you follow after her. 

--- 3 Hours Later --- 

"Take cover," you shout to an imaginary army, seeking refuge behind the base of a large tree. Rosé chuckles maniacally from behind one of the berry bushes, her fingers lightly stained from the juices that are running down her palm. 

"Nice try, Y/N. But you can't escape… CAPTAIN ROSÉ!" She shouts, surprising you as she charges in your direction, pelting you with berry after berry. You squeal, evading as many of the makeshift missiles as you can by darting behind different greenery. She eventually catches up, snaking her arms around your waist and preventing you from getting away again.

"NO!" You exclaim, slumping further into her arms in defeat after your attempts to escape prove futile. She spins you around to face her, pressing your back up against the nearest tree as the two of you practically double over with laughter. She looks ethereal, with how she shines in the sunlight that sneaks its way through the canopy of tree tops above you. Her eyes are almost closed from how hard she's smiling at you. 

A sharp growl breaks the happy moment, perking your ears up and causing your heart to race for a different reason entirely. You glance around the tree, protectively stepping in front of Rosé to shield her from any new threat. An animal -- something you've never seen before -- bares its teeth, snarling aggressively as it sets its sights on you. Your blood runs cold in your veins, stopping your heart momentarily as your brain attempts to formulate a plan on the fly. With only a few precious moments left before it attacks, you glance around for anything to double as a weapon without making any sudden movements. 

Rosé is clutched onto you from behind, and you can feel her heart beating wildly. You have to protect her, no matter what. 

"On my count, I want you to climb into this tree. I'm going to try and defend us." From what little knowledge you've inferred in the past couple minutes, you doubt the animal is capable of climbing well; it doesn't have the body or feet for it. You fear it is capable of running quickly, though, so the tree is likely your best bet. 

"What? No, I'm going to--"

"Roseanne, please, for once, just do as I ask. Trust me." You plead over your shoulder, noting the slight tremble that runs through her as another roar echoes out. Your eyes remain trained on it, never backing down for a second. 

One steadying breath later, you shout, "Now!" and swoop down to pick up what helpful materials you can. You charge at the animal, taking the offensive in order to keep as much distance possible between it and Rosé. You successfully jab the sharpened stick into its side, causing it to wail in pain. In an instant it grabs your arm, wrapping it's paws around you as it lunges forwards and tumbles to the ground on top of you. A scream leaves your lips as you watch its teeth dig further into your flesh, garnering deep crimson blood to spill from your developing wounds. You protect your neck with your other arm, only breaking this rule to reach to your side and retrieve the heavy rock you brought along as well. It connects with the side of the animal's head, only making it whimper before loosening its grip the slightest bit. You weren't prepared for it to be such a tough enemy. You use your strength to roll it over and sit on top of it, keeping your arm in its grip to ensure that it stays occupied. Your fingers dig into every sensitive part of its body you can reach, performing the defense moves you've spent your life practicing to use. With a glance at Rosé, you find her safe in the tree, just like you wanted. 

"Run!" You shout, willing to keep the creature distracted in order to give her time to escape. Before you can see if she listens to you, it's nails claw into your abdomen, scratching painful designs into the previously smooth skin. It performs another death roll, and you barely have the strength to shank it in the side again. It howls, rearing back to go for your jugular before its movements are abruptly cut short. An unsettling crack rings out above you, and you open your eyes after not receiving the fatal blow you had been expecting. The animal scampers away from you, limping off further into the forest until it's out of sight. 

Rosé drops the large branch in her hand, the end of it lightly stained with blood. "Go..." you weakly mumble, eyes beginning to flutter closed as you notice how much blood you've already lost. You feel cold, and you have to fight the shiver that runs through you.

"I've got you, Y/N." She whispers, cradling your fragile frame in her arms as she picks you up and begins the journey back to camp. "You did good." She reassures, having no idea how much you needed to hear that before falling unconscious. 

---------

After gathering the medicinal plants and resources that the two of you have accumulated so far, she returns to the fireside, settling down beside you. She raises your shirt enough to have access to your wounds, but not far enough to expose you. Temperate water meets your bloodied and broken skin, rushing over the sensitive areas as she gently cleans them. Once dry, she mixes the materials into a sort of salve to rub on them before laying the plants on them in place of bandages. 

The crackling of the fire works with the crashing of distant waves to serve as background noise, making the night far more peaceful than the day had been. She allows you to continue resting, knowing you need all of it that you can get. 

About an hour or so later you wake with a start, hands reaching out as if you were right back in front of the animal. Your dreams were plagued with images of the nightmarish beast, and you're having trouble adjusting to the fact that they were all in your head. They felt so real. Rosé is by your side in an instant, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand while caressing your thigh with the other -- it's one of the only places that made it out of battle relatively unscathed. Your panicked eyes find hers, glazed over with tears as you pull her flush against your body, glad to know she's okay. Her warmth reminds you that she's here, that she's real, and that she's safe. 

Memories of your fight come flooding back, filling your mind with the terrifying things you witnessed and reigniting your fight or flight response. You remember that she didn't listen to you -- she put herself in harm's way instead of leaving you behind, like you asked -- and you grow angry. Muttered phrases of disapproval leave your lips as you push her away, stumbling slightly when you try to stand on your own. Although confused by your erratic behavior, she reaches out to assist you, only to be met with a harsh refusal from you. 

"Stop!" The word comes out as an angry shout -- louder than you originally intended -- but you can't find it in yourself to apologize right now. You find your footing after a moment, holding your side as you walk away from her. 

"What's your problem?" She shouts, marching after you. She refuses to let this go without a fight, seeing as how she has plenty more questions than answers now.

"You could've gotten hurt, Rosé, and I could've handled it on my own." You say over your shoulder, continuing on your journey away from camp. Her relentlessness is quickly getting on your nerves.

"Clearly you couldn't! You needed help; why are you denying that?" She stops now, crossing her arms angrily with her brows furrowed. The fact that you're still so set on clinging to your pride is pissing her off. 

"You should've left me there! I can't have you getting hurt because of me." You turn around now, setting your jaw. Is she really this blind? This has nothing to do with your pride. Her eyes meet yours, the pools overflowing with confusion as they scan over your face in search of clarification.

"I can handle something happening to me; I've made my peace with that. But if something ever happened to you because of my incompetence…" you shake your head at the mere thought of that, momentarily too overwhelmed to continue, "...I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I care about you, idiot." You add that last line before turning around, not bothering to wait on her reaction. Part of you is scared to, honestly, and the day has been far too eventful for you to handle a potential rejection on top of everything else. 

She says nothing, leaving the air around you void of her beautiful voice, and you don't know whether to be thankful or disheartened. 

You put more distance between the two of you, leaving a stunned Rosé in your wake as you find a place to sit along the shoreline. Your temper -- more precisely, the fear you hold that presents itself as anger -- reared its head tonight. You didn't mean to snap at her like that, but the possibility of her getting hurt because of you makes your blood boil. That would be unforgivable, and you wouldn't be able to live with yourself. You felt helpless earlier, quickly running out of the strength required to keep her safe.

Salty tears manage to break past your line of defenses, much like Rosé has managed to do with your heart. She's torn down every wall you've ever put up to protect yourself, and now that she's there you don't know how to cope. You've had people you considered close before, but none of them have mattered like she does. You've never been so afraid of losing someone. 

A soft hand on your shoulder makes you jump slightly, pulling you from your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

"Hey." She says simply, sitting down beside you. You turn your face away, not wanting to let her see you cry. "I'm sorry for fighting, okay? But I'm not sorry for helping you. I care about you, too, and I'll be damned to just leave you like that." She doesn't say anything else, doesn't try to make you look at her -- she just sits there, waiting for you to be ready to do so on your own. 

She's waited on you since you were teenagers, so she figures she's capable of waiting a bit longer now. Both of you are aware of the love you hold for one another; this is just the hardest part -- finally admitting it. 

"I can't lose you," you whisper, eyes full of tears that occasionally roll down your cheeks once gravity finds its footing. You turn to the front, still too emotional to look into her eyes. 

"Ditto. That's why I did what I did." 

Your knees are raised and pulled in close to your body for security, your arms wrapped around them to keep them in place. She reaches over to rest her hand on yours, wordlessly coaxing you into looking at her. 

"I…" You pause, voice breaking with the emotions you're still reeling from. 

"I know." She says, resting her forehead against yours. 

"I love you, too." 

She pulls you in, making sure to be gentle and not injure you any further. She raises your head to press her lips against yours, tasting the faint hint of wildberry that still rests on them from earlier. It's slow and new, giving you a break from the intensity you've been dealing with the past few days. You tilt your head to the right, letting out a whimper as her fingers graze a bruised spot on your ribs. She gives you another peck before pulling away, determined to stop herself while she still can. You're addicting, and she already can't get enough of you. 

A beat passes between you, giving you time to sort the thoughts rushing around your mind. "I've always loved you." You admit, pulling back to look at her. Tears well in her eyes, shining brightly in the brilliant moonlight as they threaten to fall. 

"Ever since we commanded our own boats for the first time. Mine was better, of course," she laughs at that, smiling despite herself, "...but I knew you were different then. I've spent all these years being too stubborn to let myself have you." 

She takes your words in, her heart pounding victoriously in her chest at your confession. "I knew when we were still training together. You always made things better for me then; I was so thankful to know you. Even if we teased the hell out of each other." 

You grin at the countless memories that come to mind. "Do you remember that night at the docks, after we graduated from our classes?" She looks up, searching her memory vault. "When you kissed me?" She asks. You nod, looking down with a bashful smile. 

"I knew we wouldn't see each other for a while, so I wanted to make it count."

"You made it really hard to say goodbye, you know?" She says, her eyes softening as she looks at you. 

"I know. But you get half of the blame." 

She tuts at you, nudging you playfully. You hiss in pain, causing her to bring a hand up to cover her growing smile. "Oops. Sorry, not sorry." 

"If I wasn't hurting so bad I'd tackle you right now." 

"Oh, I'm so scared." She laughs, mocking you. 

"That's it," you declare, ignoring the pain that shoots through your body with all the moving you're doing. Her laugh practically heals you anyway, so it's not hard to push it from your mind. You press her into the sand, rolling over to straddle her hips and pin her hands above her head. 

"Woah, tiger. Don't hurt yourself." She raises her head as much as her restrained state will allow, coming dangerously close to your face. 

"You're such a dork." You tut, leaning in to capture her lips once more. She mumbles out a, "you love it, though" against you, and your heart can't help but soar. 

- A Few Weeks Later -

A soft melody rides along the airwaves towards your ears, persuading you to wake up from your cozy slumber. You cuddle further into Rosie's tempting embrace, smiling at the way she pulls you impossibly closer. Her throat wiggles as she hums out a familiar tune from your childhood -- one of the songs you used to dance together to. 

"You big softie." You coo, resting your chin on her chest to look into her eyes with a smile. She grins, finally peeking at you through her lashes. 

"Good morning, beautiful." She says, her accent coming through adorably. She pulls you up to her lips for a kiss before rolling you onto your back. 

You sigh as she leaves open mouth kisses to your neck, dragging her lips over the skin there lazily. She takes her time, leaving marks here and there to show the world who you belong to. Her hands skim over the warm skin of your abdomen, finally free of the intense wounds you've been recovering from. Only small scars are left now, serving as a testament to what you endured.

"Mmm, I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat." She chuckles at that, her head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as her body shakes with laughter. 

"You're thinking about food while I'm kissing you?" She grins, propping herself up on her arm to look down at you lovingly. 

"What can I say? I'm a hungry girl." You kiss her cheeks, ghosting your lips over hers. "Although," you tease the corner of her mouth, "...you're looking pretty tasty right about now. I might just eat you instead." 

She squeals as you crawl on top of her, pretending to bite her skin as you tickle her sides. 

"I surrender!" She shouts, finally giving into you. You kiss her one last time before pulling away and practically dragging her out of the structure. 

"I'll get started on cooking the fish if you grab some water." You offer, rustling through your handmade crate for the skewers you use to prepare food. 

"Alright," she nods, kissing you on the cheek before grabbing your canteens and setting off towards the freshwater spring not far from camp. 

"Be careful!" You call out after her, smiling when she turns around to face you with her hands in the form of a heart. 

---------

"Good job baby. That was delicious." She compliments, leaning back against the log you use as seating beside the fire. She almost always opts to sit in the sand and rest against it for some reason, but you're long past questioning her at this point. Rosie's… unique. 

"They don't call me Chef Y/N for nothing." You quip, holding your head higher with a sense of self-importance. 

"They don't call you that anyway." 

"Hey," you pout, slapping the back of her head with no real force. "Let a girl pretend, would you?"

"Fine, my apologies." She smiles again, and you can't help but do the same. You've lost count of how many times she's made you laugh over these past few weeks, and although you hope to be rescued sooner rather than later, the thought of being stuck here with her for a while longer doesn't seem all that bad. 

"You're doing it again," she trails off, wiggling her voice up and down to tease you. 

"What?" 

"Looking at me like a lovesick puppy." Her eyes shine in the warm, tropical sunlight, pools of rich amber that you wouldn't mind getting lost in. They match the color of whiskey almost perfectly.

"Not my fault. Have you seen yourself?." She scoffs, but blushes nonetheless. You lean over to press a kiss to the top of her head affectionately. 

Your attention is stolen away all at once as you hear the words you've been imagining ever since you arrived on the island. "Land, ho!" Multiple voices bellow out in the distance, prompting you to search for their source. Collective cheering can be heard, and you swiftly stand -- as if that simple act will miraculously enable you to see better. 

"We're coming, Captain!" Jisoo, your second in command shouts, seemingly hanging off the bow of the ship -- your ship. A squad of others follows behind, maintaining a tight formation as they make their way to shore. 

"Us too, Captain!" Someone calls from one of the neighboring boats, apparently one of Rosé's crewmembers. She waves back excitedly, and you bite back the smile that tugs at your cheeks. 

Eventually they reach land.

"Y/N!" Your scout, Lisa, shrieks like a schoolgirl, running into your arms eagerly. She was the first friend you ever made during your training years, long before you met Rosé, and you were truly worried for her.

"Ah, Lisa. Jisoo." You look between the two of them proudly, glad to see them alive and well. "What happened?" 

"We managed to defeat Captain Crusty's men--" she stops to explain when she notices your brows furrowed in amused confusion, "--that's the nickname we gave the bandit leader. Anyway, we defeated them and repaired the ship enough to make it back to shore. They did some major damage, though." 

You nod, satisfied with their story, until you remember that they didn't come alone. You subtly motion your head to the other crew, and Jisoo gets the memo. "We found the rest of these pea-brains back at the docks and they insisted on coming along."

"Hey, it's not like we wanted to be stuck with you either!" Jennie, Rosé's second, hits back, defending herself and the rest of her crew. "If your moron captain would've listened to Rosé we wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't have lost anyone in the process." 

"Quiet," Rosé warns, stepping in front of her to block the two sides from each other.

Despite knowing it isn't technically your fault, Jennie's words do hold some truth. You feel guilty for all the senseless violence you could've potentially spared your people from enduring, and the what-ifs weigh heavily on your mind and heart. 

"So long as I'm still in charge, no one will disrespect Y/N or her crew. Are we clear? I won't take kindly to any of you going against me." It's a heavy warning, and her tone makes it clear that she'll be true to her word. They know better than to test her. Her eyes scan the group of misfits, all looking bewildered by her sudden change of heart. It must be a bit jarring for them, after being such bitter enemies with the others for so long. Regardless, scattered nods and grumbles of acceptance leave them before they all scurry away to get started on their tasks, looking like scolded children. 

You send Lisa and Jisoo along with the rest of your crew to go ahead and board again, seeing that you have no real equipment to pack up this time. It feels wrong to leave the island  -- the place that brought you back to Rosie and allowed you to open your heart to her -- without something to remember it by. So, with a whispered, "Wait here," you run back to camp to snatch something. 

You return soon after, a huge smile plastered on your face. "You're bringing our door?" She laughs, tilting her head at your strange choice. 

"Duh. Good to know your eyes still work, I was getting worried." You tease, giggling as she pinches you. 

"Come on baby; let's go. Last one there has to clean the poop deck." 

"Get back here!" She yells, chasing you into the chilly water with a smile. Whether she loses or not doesn't matter much to her -- she finally has you after all these years, and she can't wait to see where the future will take the two of you. 

[adarkrainbow]

Given I have the story right under my eyes, I thought of doing a brief recap so you see how this tale, present in literary form since the 12th century, might have inspired later tales. Here is "The tale of the swan-children", "seventh tale of the Dolopathos":

Our story begins with a young man heavily praised by the text. He is noble, he is virtuous, he is galant, and more than anything he LOVES hunting. He loves everything about the hunt, and every forms of hunt - and one day he went with his dogs and his servants in the forest. Soon, they saw a ten-year-old white stag and started tracking it down... However, anyone familiar with medieval literature will tell you that hunting a white animal in the forest, ESPECIALLY a stag, is the beginning of troubles for you.

The stag fled and the hunt for it was long and arduous - so much so that the man lost sight of his servants, found himself all alone, and even lost his hunting dogs. It was just him and his horse, and no matter how much he blew his horn, no man nor beast answered him in the forest. Running around, he ended up discovering a beautiful fountain of clear water (fountain in the oldest sense of the term - a spring, a small piece of running water), and in it was a naked fairy of incredible beauty taking a bath. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and immediately the young nobleman fell in love with her, forgetting all about his lost hunting party. Bewitched by her beauty, burning with desire, he spied on her while the fairy, who had not noticed the man, placed on the fountain's side a chain of gold that belonged to her. The young man, "mad with his passion", snatched the chain away - it contained all the strength and all the power of the fairy within. Surprised and defenseless, she obeyed as the young man told her to get out of the water and put on her clothes. He then asked her to give him her love, promising to marry her, and make her a wealthy noble lady. The fairy, in return, had the man swear that he would indeed marry her and make her a proper lady if she loved him. As the narrator humoristically comments "In this time, you didn't need more: when two young people made promises, they behaved towards each other with loyalty, faithfulness and great love". (There's a lot of irony in this text, playing on the supposed galantness of the story which hides the not-so-elegant subtext)

The two slept on the grass by the fountain's side, they spent the night there, and "because the woman was wise and intelligent, not at all stupid or naive", the fairy, upon looking at the stars, knew that on this night she had conceived six sons and one girl. This frightened her, as she told her husband about it, but he was simply joyful and comforting. The young man took the fairy back to his castle, where she was celebrated (another joke of the text: they became husband and wife by passing the night by the fountain. You see the type of subtext there). There was only one person unhappy with this: the widowing mother of the young man.

The mother delighted in having all powers over her son and being his "sole mistress". She feared that her daughter-in-law would gain ascendance over him, and take power within the castle. She was so sad and pained at the idea of losing dominion over her son she fell sick with disdain and hatred, almost died... But then decided to get rid of the fairy-woman. First she tried to make her son doubt his love for her, tried to tell him she wasn't a woman for him, but he wouldn't listen to her, and said he would never part from his wife. The mother, realizing she could not change her son's mind, worked on gaining the trust and love of the fairy. Cunning, wicked and a true hypocrite, she acted in a courtly, pleasant, friendly, loving way towards her daughter-in-law, obtaining her favors and her support... Until it was time for the delivery, as the fairy was pregnant with her seven children.

The mother arranged things so that she was alone with the fairy, in a lonely room of the castle: the mother acted as the midwife. As the fairy knew and prophesized, after a VERY, very painful birth process, she delivered seven children, six boys and a girl, all incredibly beautiful and each wearing around the neck a chain of gold. It was something "natural" to them, identical to the chain their own mother used to have. The fairy was sick and exhausted by her extra-large pregnancy and the very painful birth process, so she paid no attention to what her mother-in-law was doing... which was switching the babies for the seven babies of a hunting dog. She had a servant take the babies away to the forest, to there be drowned or strangled in secret. The servant however couldn't kill such beautiful babies, and he was still faithful to his lord, so rather he left them under a tree, hoping some savage beast would do the job for him.

Here comes one of the religious moments of the text: God who created the earth and mankind to his image is full of empathy, he created everything and takes care of everything, but he is much more careful towards the misfortune of mankind because he created man in his image. He knows all, he can do all, and so he knew what happened to the children, and he worked to protect them so they wouldn't die. [Aka: all of that just to say "Somehow they survived. Why? Ehh... God wanted it. There.]

In the forest lived an old man, a very wise and knowledgeable philosopher who had fled from cities and towns because he wanted to meditate alone in peace. He spent his life studying in a cavern he had turned into his house, and as he was walking around the forest meditating he discovered the seven children under the tree - he took them to his cave, and treated them with kindness, keeping them and feeding them for seven whole years, considering them as hiw own children. He used the milk of a doe to feed them, a doe that was basically the philosopher's pet as he domesticated and tamed her during his life in the forest.

Back at the castle, the evil mother-in-law told her son how "Indeed, your wife IS a fairy, just look at what she gave birth to!". When the son saw his wife, sick and wasted away, holding seven pups, he was struck and he believed the words of his mother that indeed, his wife could only give birth to monsters. He had the seven dogs drowned and then his wife punished. The text here displays again its irony here, as it begins with a long passage about how women are experts at lying and deceiving, how she can trick and cheat even with the wisest men, how nobody can resist their illusions and falsehood if they want to be wicked, all of that supposedly to put the blame on the mother-in-law for how the son's behavior changed... While also casually saying later how sudden and abrupt the son's change of heart was, mentionning how his great loved "seemed now to all be gone", and comparing before, when he served and admired her more than anyone and loved her as his lady, mistress, queen, and after, when he was overtaken by a deep hatred for her.

Anyway, all of that to say, influenced by his mother the son became the biggest jerk ever: not allowing his wife to say anything or explain anything, not even letting her get out of bed, he had her buried up to the chest in her courtyard (with her tits out, of course, it's a medieval text after all), ordered that nobody should respect or be kind to her, and added that she could only be fed the food prepared for the dogs, PLUS... that everybody had to wash their hands over her head, and use her hair like a towel. As I said, we are in full medieval times. And the fairy was so kind and so sweet she allowed this torment to happen for SEVEN YEARS. She wore rotten clothes, her skin was somehow both pale and darkened, her blond hair had turned black with dirt, she had turned very skinny, she was just skin and bone... "Her shining beauty was come, and it was a miracle she was not dead yet".

Meanwhile her children were in the forest, having a good time, wandering in the woods, catching wild beasts and animals they brought to the philosopher. The philosopher raised them, taught them, educated them. One day, their father came to hunt in the forest: he saw the seven children playing in the forest, with gold chains around their neck. He spied on them, as seeing them gave him some sort of joy, but when they noticed him they fled - he tracked them, "hoping to catch at least one" (again, irony of the text, as the terms chosen evoke an ambiguity, he almost treats them like beasts to hunt), but they escaped his hunt. The father returned to his castle and told his mother the strange adventure he had. The old woman understood what it meant, and had the servant confess that he didn't actually kill the children... The wicked mother simply told the servant it was all his fault for not killing them straight away, threatened him with how if the lord found out they would both be punished, and it was now his job to get rid of them... By bringing them her chains. "Take it from them, convince them to gave it away or take it by force, but if you return without the chains you won't live for long!"

Fearing for his life, the servant searched days and nights in the forest, wandering everywhere in the woos. On the fourth day of his quest he found a deep and clear river where the six brothers where swimming, but under the shape of swans (yeah, it's apparently a sort of fairy-power they naturally have). They were having fun in the water, while their sister was sitting by the river-side, guarding their six chains of gold. The servant snuck on the girl, too busy watching her brothers play, and snatched the six chains of gold - but he could not get hers, as she fled in the forest. The servant returned to the castle, and the wicked mother had the six chains turned into a drinking cup (a hanap to be precise). Or she thought she had... truth was that the blacksmith entrusted with the task could not damage or break the chain by fire or hammer, so rather he made the cup with a different piece of gold and hid the chains. The mother hid the cup in a box and never had anyone use it or know about it - not knowing she had failed in her project.

The six brothers were now turned into swan form permanently, unable to regain their humanity (the power to do so was in the chains). For a very long time they just swam down the river screaming their sorrow and frustration, and even grew to hate the river and flew away from it. Their sister followed them in their travel, for she could still turn into a swan whenever she liked thanks to her chain. All seven of them flew into the sky, and reached a deep and clear pond where they made their new home... and the pound was just right next to the walls of their father's castle.

There's a segment where the construction and architecture of the castle is explained in details, to say it is a castle nobody could damage with any weapon and that can't be forced open - as long as there's food in there, they can support a siege for as long as they like. The passage is VERY long and the narrator constantly has to justify himself for why he spends so much time speaking about this castle. After this LONG fanboying over the castle, we finally get into the key point: the window of the lord's rooms gave directly towards the pond. He was in a quite sad mood, but whenever he looked at the pond and saw the beautiful swans, he felt joyful and appeased. He ordered his men to go feed and take care of the swans, but without attacking or threatening them. Thus the swans became sort of the lord's pet, being regularly fed by the castle people with bread, fish and meat. Everybody in the castle loved them and treated them as their mascot, so to speak, enjoying the show they put on as they swam, played and did all sort of tricks for them.

The sister, who could still become human, regularly took her human shape to go near the castle and there beg for some bread like... well, like a beggar, which she pretended to be. While her brothers were fed by the people, she had only to survive on the leftovers of the castle and the extras of the lord's table. And of course, she could not know the lord of this castle was her own father... Nor could she know that the woman she saw abused in the castle's courtyard, the woman she kept crying over and feeling distress for, the woman she felt pain for, was her own mother.

Hopefully she could find back joy and comfort by returning to her brothers - and she always had enough food given to her that she could share it with her siblings. The girl could not get the abused woman out of her head, and if there wasn't her brothers to take care of she would have stayed by her side always, though she could not know why. "She obeyed to her nature" as the texts comments. The people of the castle saw her several times join the swans and feed them, and them hugging her and sleeping with her. They noticed she looked a lot like the fairy before her punishment, and when the lord heard all these talks, he had her summoned. He asked the girl who she was, where she came from, who her family was, and the girl told him while crying her entire life-story.

The evil mother was in the room as the girl told her story, and so was the servant who commited the crimes. Hopefully the girl wasn't accusing them, and nobody suspect they could be related to this wild tale, but they were still scared and uneased enough [Cut to another religious moment where the narrator rambles about how God knows all, chooses to punish rarely but always switfly and harshly, and how he chooses when to reveal certain truths]. The old woman summoned the servant later, and told him to girl the girl as soon as he could, to avoid her discovering their identity. As one day the girl left the castle to see her brothers in the pond, the servant attacked her and tried to kill her with a sword - but the lord, who was around, defended the girl and ordered the servant to tell him why he actd like this. The servant , despaired, revealed everything, and swore that he only acted by the lord's mother's orders.

The lord, furious, returned at the castle and threatened his mother with a sword to tell him the truth. She confessed, but added that if he killed her he would commit a great son, and that it wouldn't bring back the chains, now turned into a cup. However, as the lord summoned the smith who did the job, the worker revealed how he had preserved the chains - the lord of the castle rewarded him handsomly. The little girl took the chains and gave them back to the swans, who returned to being human... Except one. When the smith had tried to destroy the chains, he had only managed to damage one of them, breaking a little part of it - but it had taken him so much effort he gave up the idea of destroying the chains altogether. The boy who owned this chain could not actually return to a human face, and had to live as a swan forever. However the narrator mentions that he became famous, as he was the swan of the famous legend of the Swan Knight: the Swan Knight himself was one of the six boys, and so when stories told of this heroic knight on a ship pulled by a swan with golden chains, it is just the two brothers having their adventures.

Everybody in the castle was happy with the curse being lifted, and they soon dug up the fairy, healed her, clothed her, and cared for her so much that she soon regained her colors, and the beauty of her body. Her lord loved her once more, in fact he was said to love her even more than before. But when it came to punish the cruel and perfidious old mother, she pretended she was sorry, she begged him to spare her, she told him he couldn't kill his own mother. The lord had a quite badass answer "I do not know if you are my mother, because I can't believe that, had you been indeed my mother, you would have done such a horrible thing. And, even if you are my mother, I swear by the soul of my father that you won't be forgiven." She was condemned to be buried just like the fairy used to, and to stay there until her death. She had to undergo the same treatment her daughter-in-law had to endure, and when she finally died, she was buried in the same hole, "because it was only justice".

The end ~

When looking at witches in fairytales, I formed a little space for the witch in "The maiden who seeks her brothers" fairytale, bird-subtype.

By this I mean the most famous take/type of this fairytale type, about a girl who discovers that her older brothers are now birds lost somewhere in the world, and she must undergo various trials to save them. While sometimes the transformation of the older brothers is due to something else entirely, quite frequently it is due to a witch being involved and setting a curse upon them.

The brothers Grimm made this story famous by collecting various takes on this tale: The Seven Ravens, The Six Swans, The Twelve Brothers. Andersen also wrote his own take on it, "The Wild Swans". Asbjornsen and Moe also made it popular thanks to their Norwegian version, "The Twelve Wild Ducks". In recent media the Storyteller TV show created its own variant, with The Three Ravens.

I see on the Internet people talk a LOT about "The Children of Lir" as the ancestor and predecessor of this story-type. Is it true that it was Joseph Jacobs who first highlighted the link between this Irish legend and the fairytale-type? I don't know, but the Internet LOVE the Children of Lir.

However I want to say: spare some love for the... I hate to say "actual", but clearly more direct ancestor to this story. The tale of the swan-children, from Dolopathos.

I was thinking back about this because right now I am reading a collection of medieval tales, and this story is within it. Checking out some articles, I see that Stith Thompson was apparently the one who most famously pointed it as the ancestor of the fairytale-type.

If you don't know, "Dolopathos" is a medieval romance (Latin/French) that forms a European variation of the "Seven Sages" book-type, and it contains this fascinating history of the swan-children which is... You know how often you discover that the literary ancestors of fairytales we know today actually compile many stories we think of today as separate? When you look back at Perrault or madame d'Aulnoy or Basile, etc, you see how fairytales used to be multi-parters and much longer, and they were broken into separate types and stories throughout time? Dolopathos' swan-children story is one of those.

The story begins with one of those stories of "A man forces an otherwordly woman to marry her by stealing an item of hers when she bathes" (you know, it is a story famous, be the woman a swan-maiden or a selkie). Then you have the sequence so recurring in various European fairytales of "The evil mother in law makes her son believe his wife gave birth to animals, so that the real children are on their own elsewhere and the mother is banished to live with animals and mistreated". THEN you finally get to the "Maiden who seeks her brothers" story, as the evil mother-in-law makes sure the kids are stuck in swan shape.

Reading this story after reading many variations of these fairytale type (especially in France), it makes sense why they are so often inter-connected and intertwined from region to region

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warning for: mild horror elements, kidnapping.

glass angel, part II.

What are dreams, but merely secret desires of the subconscious mind; in nightmares, we are faced with our most gruesome fears, yet in fantasies …

Velvet whispers echoed in your ears, singing poetic verse about how young and beautiful you were. Plump lips as cold as winter lingered beneath you jaw, guiding your head back with slow, passionate kisses. You willingly exposed your throat to that oneiric mouth, not knowing that you were inviting the devil in. A soft breath left your lips, yet it was soothed by what felt like a woman’s tender fingertips. That foreign touch was cold, making your lithe body shiver, nearly threatening to pull you from your half-awake slumber.

“Dormi, draga mea…“

Ethereal murmurs caressed the elegant curve of your throat, slowly circling your gentle pulse. The bed of satin sunk with another weight, and all at once everything felt palpable. You could neither move, nor open your eyes as a sultry, malevolent aura begun enveloping your body. Instinct urged you to run for your life, but a deeper, darker, and much more powerful desire shackled you to that soft mattress. Unbeknownst to you, a flame was set alit within your core, slow-burning towards your outer layers and leaving you a willing victim to your seductress.

Talon-like fingers elegantly slipped into the collar of your blouse, meticulously undoing each pearl button that held the soft fabric together and concealed your chest. A rush of heat shook your body from head to toe, albeit your collarbones were met with blizzard kisses. One, two, three… and the fourth was a brief, sharp pain which left as quickly as it came. You hastily sat up and found yourself alone, surrounded by nothing but darkness.

What strange dreams, you thought.

A terrible thirst urged you to move from the comfort of your bed and blindly search for your bottle of water. The carpet felt unusually soft, as if rose petals were laid before your bare feet, and when you took a deeper breath, you could smell their overwhelming floral scent. All of a sudden, the whole room seemed to spin with you.

"Hai afară, Hai afară…

Joacă-te cu noi!"

---

Come out, come out…

Play with us!

Eerie women’s voices echoed from every corner of the dark room, their song as morbidly cold as it was playful. They awoke a fear in you which momentarily made you forget about your parched throat. Something moved behind the walls, scratching its way along the tapestry with animalistic grunts. Wide-awake and terrified, you quickly stumbled back to your bed and pulled the covers over your throbbing head.

It’s just a dream… it’s just a dream…

Your lips shivered uncontrollably as you closed your eyes and silently begun to pray. Someone was on the bed with you, moving over you, but you laid very still, clutching the blanket around your stiff body.

It’s just a dream…

And as if nothing ever happened, the weight on the bed suddenly lifted and the muffled screeching of ghastly women dissipated like mist. An eternity seemed to pass before you managed to gather yourself and loosen the grip on the bedsheets. Steadily, fearfully, you opened your eyes only to find that the room was now glowing with a warm, pleasant light. As the haze of night terrors lifted, you begun to realize that this was not your bedroom, or anywhere familiar. Tall walls and windows surrounded you, intricately designed in old-fashioned styles. Luxurious furniture, fabrics and ornaments were preferred, giving you the impression that you were in some sort of a historical museum. If the situation had been less harrowing, perhaps you would’ve taken your time to admire your surroundings.

There was a large, gold-trimmed vanity to your left, richly adorned with vintage makeup kits and dying roses. As you found your reflection in its grand mirror, you saw that you were wearing a white satin nightgown you’ve no recollection of changing into. Your personal belongings were nowhere in sight, not even your only piece of jewelry you religiously wore; a simple gold bracelet you inherited from your late grandmother.

Panic quickly found its way in every cell of your being, especially as you spotted the tapestry on the wall to your left. It looked flat now, yet you were sure you’ve heard and seen something grisly slithering behind it in the dark. The eerie silence in the room somehow made things worse.

Feeble as you were, you carefully crawled to the other side of the massive bed, never taking your eyes off that terrifying wall as you made an effort to stand. You found leverage in a chair, slowly stepping towards the large, elegant double doors of the bedroom. Before you could reach them, though, the doorknob turned and they opened with a loud, haunting creak.

“Oh dear… you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Unfolding before your eyes was what you could only describe as the devil incarnate. A massive woman clad in expensive vintage clothing, refined silk flowing like waterfalls over her plentiful hips and bosom. Studded diamonds and pearls shimmered brilliantly around her neck in the dim light of the room as she leaned down to fit through the threshold. When she stood to her full, magnificent height, you had to tilt your head back to see her features better. By instinct you stepped away as you took in her surreal image: unnaturally pallid skin, dark red lipstick akin to blood, and eyes nearly gleaming in the dimness of the room, predatory gold.

Your throat tightened, smothering a scream as you visibly shook before the unearthly being. And she, in all of her beauteous, macabre glory, bestowed the most alluring smile upon you, effortlessly stripping you of your will to run. Under the woman’s spell, you stood beside the vanity as she approached you with large, elegant steps. Old floorboards creaked beneath her heavy footfalls and you wished you could’ve sunk with them. A freezing touch met your cheek, making you jerk by instinct. But she was tender, almost dangerously sweet as she caressed loose strands of hair away from your feverish face.

- - -

The room adjacent to the sleeping chambers was where you had a small meal in the company of the strange woman. Albeit you were ravenous, you were reluctant to truly indulge in the plentiful dinner, partly because you were very much still mortified. You pressed a napkin to your mouth as you gratefully finished a cup of lemon and elderflower tea, sweetened with honey.

“You’re very kind… thank you.”

Humbly, you murmured as you kept your head low. It was a struggle for you to appear more confident when you could barely sit, fatigued and with a throbbing, almost debilitating headache. You glanced at the majestic woman across you, relieved to find her looking back with a most pleasant smile. She placed a glass of red wine on the table, and your gaze followed, oddly intrigued by its unusually lifelike hue. When the madam spoke, your attention shifted back to her.

“Of course, my darling. I’d never let a sweet angel freeze to death in that rundown cemetery.”

Freeze?

Cemetery?

A few memories came back to you, yet they were faint and fleeting. You vaguely remembered being outside, where it was cold and dark.

“Is this your home, miss. . .?”

“Dimitrescu Alcina. For you, just Alcina.”

Dimitrescu.

Your heart shrunk at the sound of that infamous name. Suddenly, your throat clenched and you struggled to find coherent words to politely introduce yourself. Perhaps the madam noticed your distress, for she stood and paced to your side, gently encouraging you back to bed. Back to that room. Fear found its way into your chest again, thrice as intense and deep. You refused to move your legs, but you were easily swept off your feet and carried to the large bed.

The woman’s arms and chest felt cold and rigid, almost deathly, and yet you found a strange comfort in her embrace.

“I need… to get home…”

Gently, you protested.

“I.. I think I’m alright now..”

Words barely passed your soft lips and you could not keep your eyes open, let alone stand. Madam Dimitrescu leaned over you as she laid you on her bedsheets. It somehow felt familiar, like that song whispered to you in your dreams, or those cold lips luring you into sin. Though your eyelids were heavy, you managed to fight the haze of fatigue enough to see her gaze darkening as she observed you with wicked delight. Gloved claws caressed your jugular slowly, dancing along delicate clavicle to brush smooth strands of hair behind your bare shoulder. You shivered beneath her wintry touch, unmoving as she drew closer.

“You aren’t fit to leave yet, angel… Sleep.”

Murmurs dripped like satin off her lips, and as she pressed a kiss to your forehead, you were lulled into another deep slumber.

- To be continued…

*part III.